A beauty calls to us; a wholeness we know provides a haven and home in our skin.
The Buddhist call this beauty “our true nature.”
The Sufis call this beauty “the voice of the beloved.”
I call this beauty “You now. You on an average day. You in your bathrobe or new hot suit.”
You now. You making peace with the demons, the sadness, the loss, the terror, the joy, the happiness, the love, the kids, the back pain, the gray roots, the car troubles, the anxiety that you might not be enough, the “To Do” list, and pending stuff ahead.
We are born into this world with the dance in our step and the song in our ear and heart, yet we may first come to know it by its disappearance or absence.
We can feel a deep longing, like a lost child, and know that something essential is missing.
We can take walks at night and look up at the stars and ask, “What the heck is going on? When will I get this right? When will I be at peace with myself? When will I know myself?”
We can walk on and persist in knowing the practice and process of our true nature, asks questions, is curious, courageous and bold.
Our true nature is a process, not a cooked up PR response, not a boiled lobster red hot in the pot.
Our true nature is stone soup. It’s a work of art. It’s part leftovers, part new.
It’s doing so right now. It’s happening right now.
No matter what.
Give yourself a hug.
Take a breather.
One moment to say: Today is a work of art.
No matter if it looks like a Jackson Pollack or Monet.
It’s your own. It’s your process.
Albert Camus wrote, “A man’s life is nothing but an extended trek through the detours of art to recapture those one or two moments when his heart first opened.”
I’m of the opinion that a woman’s life is an extended sway of managing her brilliant mind, hips, hormones and body through the detours of creating a love story with her life.
She must insist on knowing all parts of herself, and enjoy herself on her terms.
She must celebrate the moments when life broke her heart and say,
Yes, my heart broke, and it’s now open.
It may hurt like hell, but it’s open. She must tell the truth to her doctor, therapist, friend, lover, journal, a tree, cat, dog or bird.
She must insist on her beauty and walk on.
My high school motto: Behold I Set Before Thee An Open Door.
The door is open.