A beautiful morning dawns, warm for a November morning, but just enough chill to hint at winter. Brian is off for his sacred callings, and I ponder what invites for me this day. Church? Walk? Run? Food prep? Online work, so I don’t need to tend it tomorrow? The sun shines brilliantly into our living room. Nala rests her head on the fleece she loves, closing her eyes. The house sparrows chirp outside, wondering when I will refill their feeders. It feels a blessed morning, just being here.
Or journaling in a way that seems to beckon these days. Journaling by hand into my notebooks brings my body anxiety for some reason. A shake or a pause in my handwriting, which is hard to read anyway? Dad has that…so I wonder.
It was good for my heart to muse on sex and life with Brian yesterday. It opened some things in me, to remember how thankful I am for him, and to relinquish my uber-sense of over-responsibility for things that are not all mine. We veered into some yearnings-conversation during cocktail hour yesterday, which never seems to happen without cocktail hour. He cannot name what he wants, which he hides behind “I have all I need.” And we do have a blessed, abundant life together. The familiar comparative separation arose–he experiences me as simply SO MUCH while he feels so small. I felt prepared for it, reminding him it was a beautiful way I was made by Godde to be. I didn’t receive his judgment, in other words, but reveled in my beautiful size, being just right. And I mirrored how beautiful his quiet size is as well…
One of the learned things that helped was we caught ourselves in the parallel projections that we often experience together but focused on ‘the other.’ He experiences me as talking so very much while he has no clue of how much he talks at me. When he tendered his experience, I tendered my own back to him, reminding him that we always find ourselves in this parallel projection. We are having the same experience, though one projects the irritation or frustration onto the other. He recognized that pattern and received it. That’s the best we come to actually hearing one another amidst our own sense of feeling unheard.
I’ve been reading–slowly, a chapter every couple of days–this book that Lisa recommended: The Way of Grace: the Transforming Power of Ego Relaxation by Miranda Macpherson. Today’s chapter centered on melting the grip of control, offering a practice Macpherson calls the mountain of presence. I smiled to recognize the meditation-practice, though I’d never read of it before. It arises naturally in the invitations into body-presence I often extend to directees. A way of connecting to the ground beneath us, the energetic presence of the Earth nourishing and grounding all of us, aware of it or not. The previous chapter centered on fear, there is nothing to fear, with invitation to harness fear as a gateway into Grace. I will explore that with some intention later, methinks, as I breezed past it this past week. I’m not aware of my fear as much as I used to be, which makes me wonder whether I’ve relinquished more of it, or simply contained more of it in new flows of practice(s). I wonder…
I have found myself drawn to a 30-Day-Challenge pdf I printed off earlier this week, curious what I might want to deepen with such intention. Shoulder mobility is the most obvious thing for me, as I do want to strengthen my capacity for a strict pull-up. So…mobility-stretching exercises for 30 days. Practice of ego-relaxation seems to be a good candidate as well, easily held within the frame of centering prayer Brian and I talked about doing together a couple times a week.
Mostly, I’m aware of this increasing awareness to balance, invitation, creative-renewal once again. The months before sabbatical are a bit like Pooh’s wisdom about putting his paw into honey. The honey is tasty, for sure, but it’s the anticipation right before putting your paw in the pot that is so delicious.