I don’t always recognize what’s happening inside.
Often, until it’s too late.
Until I’m so confused I’m shaky.
Wondering how on earth I can make sense of the here and now.
Wishing I could intervene.
Hoping for an opportunity.
Attempting to infuse myself with strength.
And then I crack.
The vase that is my mortal being cracks and dissipates into a million pieces.
They lay there scattered on the floor.
Each piece taking on a different shape, a different feeling.
Their jaggedness reflecting the sharp reality of what is.
I, what’s left of me, stares at the pieces perplexingly.
Knowing that in order to exist I have to put the pieces back together.
In a way that is able to withstand the pressures of this life.
I’ve put the pieces back together before.
Only, I didn’t create a structure capable of tolerating this world.
In the long term at least.
I put the pieces back in a way that made sense at the time.
I was unknowing.
But life is full of change. And my pieced together vase didn’t adapt fruitfully.
How many times have I attempted to put the pieces back together?
I don’t know.
And yet here I stand staring at the fragments of my body and mind.
Recognizing that I need a new approach.
Acknowledging the beauty of a mosaic that can be created from the jagged pieces of my being.
Choosing to slow down.
And become aware.
Aware of clues that teach me how to put the pieces back together.
So my vase is steady, yet flexible.
Strong, yet soft.
Firm, yet understanding.
Safeguarded, yet vulnerable.
The honest learnings and raw reflections of my practice and my life. Unedited.