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The Victory defeat arena - failure and the either or world with bravado and physical “can do” or a shame bearing, weak, fumbling tumbling act. Neither are inclusive. One out one in. The arena is spectacular-ness “look at me” How about the bedridden who can’t make it down to the field, janitorial staff for the colosseum, the street vendors, those boycotting. Teddy, head long into life, charging and what is the point. Where is prayer and meditation, What would compassionate space look and feel like.

Ah rest, rest as surrender, a calmness without effort or force, caught in the moment, held floating, this nowness.

It’s always someone else’s turn to receive and for us to see that, step out of the way and give freely. Pay forward, pay backward, just give and serve and see the need and grow a garden of compassion. The world has always needed that.

Well it has to do with grief. My mother was dying. It was before cellphones. We went to the nurse’s station and they told us she had died. We were expecting to visit her. We found ourselves just standing in the vacant elevator lobby holding each other not wanting to push the button.

I wanted to rescue the chickpea. I had to awaken that I had a choice. Earlier today I had breakfast and it included chickpeas. I finished each one mashing the last. Raw or half cooked it would’ve stayed on my plate. Now it is within I am digesting it fully and completely. It is nourishing. I am nourished.

What a happy challenge to look with in objects, all objects as living. Yes if the “stones were to shout!”

In conversation when there is a shared thought, a back and forth dialogue and then a shared understanding there feels to be a shift in the experience of we - a connecting of minds.

I affirm this experience, it just loosens all of the head stuff and grounds me

your words make me smile happily.

ahh, I can get this, it is a full and overflowing and heavy basket. you are not the basket.

I think the pain and confusion of shame for me, as the being sort of caught off guard, blindsided in the moment by my own biases and false notions. Definitely going it alone and isolating deepen the pain and confusion and keep it near constant. Shame, despair, confusion, fear even is not a haven for the heart. I DO have to be curious and look at those feelings, bodily sensations, rampant thoughts that seem to drown out a sense of 'how about' living in the moment. A breathing in and out helps to get some perspective, sort the ills and remedies, give some space and allowance for things as they are and as they are not. I can work on myself, not the world, not others.

I can see there is an eternal practice to this.

Owning my story and yet being more than my story. Saying yes to that authentic voice, but first listening, being kind in a very soft and tender way to that place of manifest spirit - walking without alarm.

Summer under the mimosa tree awakening from a nap maybe 8 or 9 my parents came out to me sharing about eternal life. I’m not certain I understood it or do now but their unity love the afternoon warmth and light filled me