my word

Clarity.

It's taken some time to arrive at this point... but I'm here. I've been holding my word of the year for a few weeks now - just to make sure it is indeed my word. (I had a few that I held for a day and weren't jiving, but I've got it now!) And what I'm seeking this year is clarity.
Clarity in vision. Clarity in purpose. It is the space of calm before beginning. It is having an intention and then having the courage to move forward. It is having the integrity of saying "yes" to only what is important and following things through to their completion.

In the past, I've jumped towards a goal or destination just to avoid the stillness of not knowing. I'm a chronic starter and not finisher. But this year, I'm committed to listen to the whispers of my quiet heart and give her what she wants. Sometimes this means being very quiet and patient - and I'm committed to that. It also means learning to trust; the moment will present itself when all is ready.

In the mean time I'm going to keep present and keep creating and trust that all will unfold in it's time.

on community

Don't do it alone. Really.
You don't have to.
There are others out there;
others who are curious about the kinds of things you are,
others who have the same types of struggles you do.

And we're waiting for you.
It might not look like it right now.
Maybe we're waiting for you to find us.
Or maybe we are waiting for you to put out the call of commonality
and draw us all in together
showing us that we are more alike then we are different.
Maybe we are simply just waiting for you to reach out and begin.

you are here...or rather, I am here

January Moon
(a picture completely unrelated to the following post but included anyway for your viewing enjoyment)
This is the gorgeous view we had just a few evenings ago.

Oh my goodness! It's freaking February already! What happened to January? What happened to 2009?

I know I've been quiet around here lately. I feel like I'm in the depth of great gestation. It's like when your fumbling around in the dark waiting to catch your bearings and grasp your location. Right before the picture becomes clear. That silence and waiting. That trusting that soon you'll figure it out. That's where I've been. Only, I'm learning that finding out my location requires some movement. Some action. In short, some fumbling. So here I am. Fumbling.

I guess, at the heart of it what I'm experiencing is the action of patience and receptivity. I always thought that patience and being receptive were non-action. You know, you're not really doing anything. Yeah, I'm learning different. Saying that is like saying that being pregnant is not doing anything. Nothing could be further from the truth!

Being patient and receptive means paying close attention. Attention to what's going on around me and listening to what is happening in my inner world as well. It is a commitment to really show up and be aware. It is a commitment to do those things and to honor what comes. It is trusting the process. It is risking comfort to listen to the inner stuff of my self. Listening so that I may find some sort of stillness. And in encountering that stillness finding myself, my bearings, my location.

I say all of these things and, of course, realize that what I'm really seeking is an answer. An answer or the answer. I'm looking forward to the next move. That's what I'm itching for. The promise of more action. Of moving forward. On to what's next. Some external sign of progress. Something to hang on my fridge, show my friends or even better, something to cash in at the bank. But before moving on to whatever it is that is next for me, I suppose I'm learning to listen and trust first. Isn't that the only way to proceed forward? Isn't that really the only way to be?

I am so very blessed. My family is healthy. We have a beautiful home and food to eat. I get to stay home with my little boy. And somehow I can get to feeling that what I'm doing isn't enough. I want to rush around to do more. Because honestly, just being here can feel uncomfortable. I'm learning instead to gather up the stuff of my thoughts and my heart and not run into the first direction it sends me; but to sit and trust and be.