juliette preparing lunch. gulu, uganda. april 2010. www.cafwaafrica.org

there are a hundred things vying for my attention. probably no different for you. people that need tending. work unfinished. prayers to pray and phone calls to return. lists to write and food to make. a career to build and clients to satisfy. relationships that require restructuring, deep feelings and anxieties to process. a body to transform, pillows to stuff and a pile of laundry to fold.

the pockets of time i have to work my way through these things are minimal. and, honestly, when i find myself alone in my home (an absolute rarity in the summertime) all i seem to manage to do is to glaze over and turn to stone. the agendas become like a swarm of bees threatening to sting and all i can do is sit still and hope they come back to pollinate later. 

and then i remember juliette, the woman i spent my last day in gulu with. there is no room in her day for rest, for the concerns that i have. for  her, it is not an option to stare at walls.

i don't really want to go into the zone of examining self- indulgence in the privileged life. nor do i want to delve further into any guilt for being afforded the space to think these thoughts. i guess what i'm looking at is the belief i've held in the fantasy that a life built on creativity and passion can and should be easy. that all will fall into place as it should and that if it feels forced, rushed, or otherwise burdening, than there is something wrong. i'm struggling through it. i'm pretty sure it is all a matter of perspective, clarity, and paradigm shifts. and i also think it has a lot to do with avoiding my power. (thank you, danielle laporte)

i don't know. but today i think i need a day off to figure it out. or, at the least, to triage, organize, and sleep.

are you feeling any of this, too?

dancer, bali, indonesia. august 2008.

it is monday again, late on this summer solstice, wherein i am sitting in the dark lit only by my laptop screen. my heart is a little racy, maybe from the crazy boot camp exercise class i went to this evening, or maybe because i am humming along with the shift of seasons. everything feels alive, exquisite, wholly perceptible. i am following my experience with curiosity. with tenderness. with faith, forgiveness, and reminders.

new truths emerge with each day. they sit in the tension of my shoulders, in the curve of my back, tie knots in my belly, and eventually make their way to my heart. i am holding them there. allowing for the inevitable release and integration that follows.

many years ago, before marriage and children, i spent a summer in alaska working at a camp for young adults with physical and mental disabilities. between sessions, in the late evenings, which were as clear and bright as daytime, the other staff and i would often jump in the lake and swim. i remember doing so on the summer solstice, all twenty years of me alive and free with anything and everything ahead. today, my solstice meditation is on that memory. one of found friends and fellow dreamers, naked and willing, back floating under a midnight sun with rays willing to shine right through into the next day.

happy solstice, everyone. breathe it in.

and please visit my gloriously gutsy friend jo's monday me post . she is everything real.

self portrait in gulu, northern uganda. april 2010.

i know more intimately with each day the things that i can no longer live without. spirit. transparent living. deep inquiry. joy. truth. love.

the twist is that these very things are the things that i fear most. because living wholly, living these words that are so easy to throw around, is pushing me further into the realm of the unknown than i've ever gone before. and while the mystery is thrilling, it is also asking me to trust in a way that is free-falling and slippery. there are no answers, only questions. and more questions.

the steadying forces in which i find so much solace, are the voices and gazes and tweets and emails and texts and hugs that reflect the knowing hearts of the circle of travelers i have found myself among. they know who they are. they, too, live in the present with the questions, and are the ones for whom no translation is required.

and tonight all i can think is that, no matter what,  i am not alone. it is all ok. and exactly as it should be.

thank you, bindu wiles, for rallying up an even larger team of travelers and for bringing me back to two of the most grounding practices that are vital to my being. i appreciate your showing the way back to the door. fear or not, writing and yoga are well-worn paths toward freedom.