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Filtering by Tag: what i know
manzanita . taken with iphone and hipstamatic app
i come to the sea
the way i want to move in this world
to lean into
the truth of all that has existed before me
to breathe in
i come to the sea
and it is here that i find my way back to my song
i am over here continuing to soak up the beauty that was the joy retreat and reflecting on the reasons why i want to always gather women by the sea and among the trees. and as i begin to finalize plans for next month's midwest retreat, i am smiling so big knowing i will be bringing this kind of experience back to my roots.
a truth i am sinking into:
when you know this is the path (that this is your path), you must show up and do the work.
(even when it is hard and might seem impossible. even when you don't think others will ever get it.)
keeping your heart open and letting hope partner with trust will be important guides along your way.
each time i return from a be present retreat, i struggle with how to share all that unfolded. each retreat has been simply all that i hoped it would be plus whipped cream and cherries and the warmest hug of truth and love one could experience. (seriously, they really have been that good.) the joy retreat was oh my goodness simply fantastic. so much love and light and laughter and beauty. (thank you girls. big. thank you.)
gathering women together and providing space for them to show up as themselves feels as though it will always be my life's work. i am so blessed.
the final day of this retreat was the first time i have been the last person to leave (usually i have a friend or two with me). after walking through the house one more time, i put on my rain boots and headed out for a final walk through the sand. i had so much fun snapping away with my iphone that i feel moved to share a few of these photos with you over the next few days. i am going to pair the photos with a musing of sorts about what i am learning and leaning into as i breathe in the truth of the gifts these retreats give me.
tonight, everyone is asleep. the house seems quiet but i can hear millie snoring, the ocean sound machine keeping the beana lulled into rest, joshua radin serenading me so i do not feel alone, my fingers move move moving to share these words, my body's rhythm through my breath inhale exhale repeat repeat.
there is so much i want to tell you. so many stories that have been shuffling about inside me, for months or is it years. stories that are stacking up and now have begun to spill over. i am feeling moved, perhaps pushed, to share them here...tonight, i begin with a moment from last week.
friday, i wrote these words in an email:
one foot in the dark.
one foot in the light.
trying to give myself permission to own what i already know...
now i try to navigate trusting it all.
(i think i need a boat.)
moments later, i sat in this same spot i sit now while the beana slept and said aloud: i need to make myself a boat.
and with that i found myself grabbing an old wool sweater, tying a shawl around me, sliding on handwarmers, and gathering all that i needed to set up the table on the back porch so i could paint a huge canvas that had been leaning against a wall in our family room for about four months.
i pasted vintage paper and a map and other things to that canvas, piled on layers of gel medium, and took a pencil and wrote a letter asking for what i needed in that moment.
these words aligned with many others. choose, let go, live... line after line. and then i painted over all of it with a color i mixed until i found seaglass.
as i mixed that paint, i just kept talking to the universe. i give you this because i can no longer carry it. i choose hope. i choose rest for just this breath.
and then the boat i needed appeared. just a silly little boat with a simple passenger watching the world, navigating it with her wide open eyes, seeking, searching, hoping.
while my little one napped, i found my way to remembering what i know. i let go of the chatter that rolls around inside me to remember the joy waiting for me when i give myself what i most need. when i give myself the gift of seeing me.
i think i need a boat, i said.
and now, as joshua radin sings and the ocean rolls and my foot tap tap taps, in this moment, just before i stand up and dance inside this truth, i let go of holding it all, and i choose to trust for this breath, then the next, repeat repeat repeat.
you are (dancing) on your path.