Self-care: I’ve heard it often enough to understand that we live in a culture where we keep too busy. Many times ‘we’ don’t even make it on our very own to-do list. Serving the demands of our agendas is more important than slowing down to allow time for introspection. It is much easier to disregard self-care since it doesn’t yield the same reward as a clean kitchen, a mowed lawn, an empty inbox or a home-cooked meal. Self-care is not just putting your name on the to-do list – it’s slowing down enough to listen to what you truly need. It means being vulnerable and not just the one in charge of checking-off a list.
My backyard, small but perfect – a place to lounge mid-afternoon during the summer months. Two new turquoise-blue muskoka chairs make backyard lounging perfect. Everyday I would sit with my bare feet touching the grass or crosslegged on the chair studying, reflecting and writing. My studies were often interrupted by my curious little dog playfully pouncing on grasshoppers, a squirrel running along the fence line or flying insects. Butterflies were plenty. They were unlike the buzz or crawl of the other insects. Their descent into my backyard was like royalty, gracefully fluttering to the sound of trumpets and strings. I could not help but stop what I was doing to watch them – moving from blades of grass to flowers until their final ascent up and beyond my yard. I was mesmerized by their beauty and elegance.
Having lost my grandmother at the beginning of July, I was contemplating the idea that butterflies are a sign from God. Continue reading
The storm clouds have dissipated,
Cooled by the steady downpour of tears.
The thundering crashes and jolting bolts have refrained,
Hushed by vigilant discernment and practice.
A calm so bold and boisterous has settled in,
Stabilizing unassuming weather patterns.
With my feet securely planted in the soil,
I am in-touch with my roots.
My toes, arches and heels extend deep into the dirt,
Connecting me to memory after memory after memory.
My toes wiggle playfully in the soil,
Jogging my memory of joyful times.
My heels dig deep into the dirt,
Uncovering the rocky hard-to-handle memories.
I tense up.
As my arches press firmly into the soil,
I watch the dirt spill over the tops of my feet.
The joyful and hard-to-handle are harmoniously bridged.
My feet: toes, arches and heels are grounded in the soil,
Connecting me to all that is me.
My roots: past, both fond and “rather forgotten”
are the life-sustaining lessons needed for growth.
The storm clouds have dissipated.
My feet have sunk steadily into the warm wet earth,
Fastening me with my roots,
Preparing me for new growth.