Behold the face of a woman in a post-meditative state. I'm not always gloomy, you know. Moreso just pensive. Much of the time, I feel warmth and equanimity. And I generally know what to do when I don't. That's where my sadhana practice comes in.
You know what I've learned from committing to a meditation practice of 15 minutes a day, at least 5 days a week for the past three months?
That I don't actually need anybody to understand me. Not my spouse, my kids, my parents, my friends, nobody. I just need to understand myself. I am the only who truly knows the reverberations in my soul.
That even when life feels hard, I can meet the moment as is. When I'm clinging to unhealthy patterns and coping mechanisms, I daydream a lot about the past, or I anxiously fixate on the future. But when I see my life for what it is - it's a lot like playing with my youngest son - an intentional, ever curious moment of presence, joy, and authenticity. Nothing else needs to be in reach for me to be content. This fact alone lightens the load. I can see myself, my world, and those I love without a desire to make amendments or judgments about anything at all. I simply accept what speckled canvases we are: raw, beautiful, and splashed with every colour on the palette.
And lastly, that I am everything and everything is me. That I'm like the trees I so often find comfort in: the darkness of their canopies and the fragility of their branches that extend toward the light; the emphemeral leaves that undergo a great release each season, and the enduring roots that fix them in place throughout time. I'm not separate from any of it, even though my ego and my distaste for social veneers would sometimes have me think otherwise.
With open eyes, I simply allow it all to be, to be, to be.
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