A poetic photographer gifts
me a memory from a sweet summer.
***
I wake to the stories of yesterday. I feel the precious
weight of the newborn placed so trustingly in my arms. I taste the cinnamon
cereal shared as a snack with a spirited six-year-old while filling in the
pages of a mermaid coloring-book. I hear the rage, hopelessness and fear in the
young woman’s voice as she says, “I don’t
want to hear another ‘I told you so.’”
I think of these women at the shelter, I think of their starry-eyed
little ones. Our lives momentarily overlap. I only catch a small fragment, a
quick snapshot of their story, now fading into an impression, into a feeling.
The feeling blooming is love flowing into a fierce, sacred whisper to the
Universe wishing them wellbeing, safety, and radiant rising.
I wake to their narratives and to a curiously peaceful
heart. I am learning, then.
This is a dose of daily soul work: to be an open heart in
this raw world, to be an alert listener to the stories of my fellow travelers
and still be centered in my being. This is a challenge. I tend to absorb others’
heartbreak as my own.
I soak in emotional energies like a sponge: a phone call,
a quick glimpse of the headlines, a poignant film, a brief exchange echoes in
my being and whips waves of emotion that can either uplift or sink my spirits
for days, or even weeks.
This sensitivity to places, people and energies is a
natural part of my wiring, and I’m just now learning to work with and not
against my sensitivity. I am peeling back the voices of misunderstanding
teachers, judgmental family members and fifth grade bullies to hear and honor
the soft voice of my sensitivity.
My sensitivity is a wild creature whom I use to fear. Sensitivity ignites me to feel intensely, makes me dizzy in crowds, causes me to be overly
stimulated in loud and busy environments.
I’m now learning to nurture this artistic beast through routine that satisfies its craving for solitude, nature, and art. I restore through daily meditation, walks in nature (I relish a stroll in the cold; I feel so utterly alive), time spent freely journaling and reading works that sing straight to my center. I practice compassion toward self (because it’s a daily decision to show kindness) when I’m stressed, vulnerable, fearful, and when I’m content and joyful. By softening toward myself, I’m softening toward others, and I’m softening to the world without taking on the world.
I’m now learning to nurture this artistic beast through routine that satisfies its craving for solitude, nature, and art. I restore through daily meditation, walks in nature (I relish a stroll in the cold; I feel so utterly alive), time spent freely journaling and reading works that sing straight to my center. I practice compassion toward self (because it’s a daily decision to show kindness) when I’m stressed, vulnerable, fearful, and when I’m content and joyful. By softening toward myself, I’m softening toward others, and I’m softening to the world without taking on the world.
The practice is the work shift at the shelter, a world
pulsing with stories, heartbreaks, hopes, sorrows and dreams. I feel for the young woman missing her
purse, feel her frustration, her anger, her desire to discharge the blame, and
I stay connected to my breath as I help her search, not taking on her feelings,
just simply being present for her and myself. Instead of being scrambled with
feelings, I am able to be in the moment. I see the incredible strength and
poise the six-year-old exudes as she answers her mother in Spanish, then
directs her unwavering gaze at me and asks for her mother, “What is it that you
need?”
I need to be awake in this moment, to listen
wholeheartedly, to be a gentle witness to the stories, and still wake in the
morning fully empowered in my sensitive self. This is my soul work as a
sensitive being. And I’m softening into the journey.
