Lying down…

Sometimes you just gotta LIE DOWN. No matter how brave, how stalwart, how true…sometimes you just have to surrender and let the world have its way with your raw, burning heart. Oh it can’t have your soul, or your worth, or your peace. But it can have your heart, because to live any other way than vulnerably whole-hearted is a denial of your most authentic nature. And sometimes that kind of wide open love requires stillness. Surrender. Gratitude. Even when things are sucky. Even when they are hard. Especially when they seem impossible. Like right now.

The world is burning. On so many levels. We are transforming into something we cannot yet see. And I’m over here rustling up a 25-year-in-the-making refuge for dreamers, for those daring enough to imagine a new world right in the middle of this burning one.

I feel crazy. And overwhelmed. Out of my depth. Broken-hearted by all the brokenness. And stupid. Or gullible…riding bareback with Don Quixote in search of untamed windmills.

What’s the point? I ask myself 72 times a day. Why carry this dream uphill for so long? The exhaustion of mind and thoughts drives me to my knees. And eventually onto my back, sinking into the earth, tears soaking green grass.

Why am I working so hard for a vision that may never materialize?
What if I build it and no one comes?
Why do I care so much?
What if Covid shuts everything down?
Shouldn’t I just settle down somewhere small and tend to my own family’s needs?
What happens to my mother? Her health? My friends? Without me?
Where do I find the funding to make this place worthy of all the seekers who need support?
How can I help artists achieve their highest purpose when our collective society doesn’t recognize their value?

She reminds me, this green earth holding me, that I was formed by being held…held in the red room of my mother. That it’s ok to not know, to receive, to allow the holding. That nurturing often comes by way of surrender, and that dreams, like embryos, require weightlessness and suspended animation, in order to grow ripe enough for birthing.

In our “just do it” culture we forget the life-giving power of the feminine, the pulse of receiving, the magnitude of surrender. We forget that all life springs from Mother and is sustained by her green generosity.

Someone once told me that God lives in the space between thoughts. To commune with Greater we must go to a space bigger than mind, and connect with the genius that lives in the in-between places.

It’s where the Impossible is born.

I have to remind myself.

Re-mind myself.

72 times a day.

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