I cried today. I let the tears come up and my throat clench. I let my chest constrict and the salt brush my lips. The tenderness is heavy and light in the same moment. Opening so completely to who I am, who WE are, is almost overwhelming. WE hold all that IS within ourselves.
The cold my grandson caught from his parents is in my chest. My voice cracks when I speak. We are vulnerable; and we are capable of healing. Within each of us there is fatigue and push, and expectations so high they are mind boggling – and there is a deep knowing that we can do it.
Our self-judgment rules. We know we don’t know everything, but we know a lot. We resonate when we are in alignment with our passion. We know when we act out of true love. We know when giving takes more than just a material gesture and comes up out of our bones. We know how good it feels, how right it feels, when we are awake to a much bigger perspective than the tedium that clutters the to do list.
Henry is 15 months old. He is my first grandchild. He is amazingly connected to what is true and whole. He is not distracted by petty external situations that we let drive ourselves mad. He is alive in each moment. When invited to help water the outside plants – he is in, hook line and sinker. He stands strong, grinning ear to ear, shirt soaked, plastered against his belly and thick with dirt, mud splatters reaching up over his cheeks and even eyes! This is living! I am here! CELEBRATE! Allowing him that freedom to fully BE is a gift. He is safe. He can explore. His world is right there fully in the mixture of water and dirt, sunshine and Dad.
Our world is similarly available to us, if we learn to stay put. If we learn to not be lured away into what is next. We can tune into the magic. We can touch the richness of our being. We can welcome the freedom of delight. We can BE, if we can just push the pause button on simply doing the next thing.
We were in Palm Springs for an Institute of Functional Medicine advanced Cardiometabolic conference. My son, his wife, and Henry joined us. The drive back to their house was two and a half hours. We carefully scheduled the drive to occur over his naptime, which is typically one and a half hours. I got to sit by him, his little fingers mushing the skin on my forearm as it rested on the edge of his car seat. He’s a great little traveler.
The sun was bright, the sky was blue, the flight home was a red eye, so we veered off the freeway to explore Idyllwild. The switchbacks were endless, the mix of evergreens and rocks inviting, and the gentle vibe of the place refreshing. The trip expanded so arrival home was already just past the usual dinner hour. We had stopped at Sprouts Market, and had fresh dinner ingredients ready to go. We all jumped out of the car heading into what’s next.
Not Henry. When released from his car seat, he made a beeline across the front lawn to the far corner of the house where there is a small recess before the tall solid wooden fence connects the side of his house to the neighbor’s fence. He passed the downspout, curved around low, small bushes, and confidently turned around and sat down in the mulch, back against the wood. Still. Present. Not moving. Not pulling off berries or picking up pieces of mulch.
I was on Henry duty while the car was getting unloaded, so I was close on his tail. But when he stopped and sat down, I was puzzled, so I just watched. He looked at me – no expression. I sat down, too. Right in the grass facing him. He was regal. Buddha like. The knowing came – he’s GROUNDING. After all the travel, he was home, and connecting. Not a squat for pooping. A definite deliberate sit. In the mulch. Back against the wood. I was the student, he the teacher. I closed my eyes and sank into the earth as well. Home. Energetically home.
We are so much. We are sometimes too busy to hold it all. Why not sit, and sink – into the moments, and connect with what is true and whole?
“Truly I say unto you, unless you… become like children… ”
Familiar phrase? Deep wisdom. Are you seeing and LIVing this moment AWARE? Choosing to be present will ground you – into who you really are. Join me, in thanking all the beautiful and pure little Henrys everywhere. Honor them and keep them whole as we awaken to the abundance of each moment.