It’s those tightly woven moments causing volcanic eruptions in every crevice of our being. Moments turning into days, strung together by superglue with no breathing room.

One after the other, silently building, with pressure mounting.

They are sometimes woven with no end in sight; we call that a tough day, a tough week, a tough series of years. We work overtime to fix it by sending the same situation more energy.

Sometimes life decides to push us the hardest when we feel the weakest, leaving us no choice but to face what we’ve been dodging. Maybe in that sense, it’s the path of least resistance. Maybe we’re surrendering because we’re done standing for the status quo.

I won’t say this is an evolved perspective, much less an enlightened one. This is merely me banging my head against a wall enough to know what hurts and what feels good. A job that doesn’t inspire, a relationship on life-support, a situation that won’t change no matter how much massaging I’ve done.

When our choices end up choosing us, waking us up from a self-induced sleep of floating with the current, it tends to be a rude awakening. Maybe a gentle whisper wasn’t enough the first time around.

This is a gift.

The disturbance is here to remind us that there is a greater life to be had. It is here to declare that we are not growing into the greatness that has been laid before us, and that we are meant to stretch into the magnificence called life.

It doesn’t have to mean more effort. It doesn’t have to equate to sacrifice or pain. In fact, it is usually a process of shedding and lightening an unnecessary load.

It is merely a shift. Sometimes shifts come with a shake to make sure we’re paying attention.

This is a reminder that you are not alone in your moments. During those tightly woven moments of cloudiness and turbulence, listen. There is a story beyond the sensation.

Remind me dear spirit.

Remind me when the wind comes again and I mistake the bending at my roots with weakness. Remind me that this sway and fluid body is not survival, or proof that I can’t keep it all in order. It is a necessary dance, as I find spaces for growth.

Remind me that it’s not my job to hold anything in place. Predictability is a staged and stale state, robbing our breath of its freedom to create.

Remind me, gentle heart.

Remind me that when I want to surrender all effort, it is not a sign of failure or a display of life’s lack of love toward me. When my heart is weary, remind my heartbeat that it is merely time to rest. I am being reminded to fall into surrender and unclench the struggle. It is not mine to control.

Oh gentle heart, remind me that opening is the only way to see and to be seen, to love and to be loved. It is the epicenter of our existence.

In the despair of the discomfort, remind me that my body responds as it is told. Allow my restless mind to find peace so that my heart may speak its purpose. In silence, the whispers of intuition can melt the brick and mortar I carry around as a body. Noise makes for heavy wings.

Remind me of the grace and strength of my heart. Just how a lover’s gaze in awe of my magic can breathe life into me, the body can revive the world when the heart leads the way.

Remind me, my compassionate soul, that boiled anger is always welcome. That these fits of tears and resistance to what is only bring me closer to peace. Remind me that my shouting to the sky in pain is why I am here. It is a conversation with God and a prayer to myself that needs to happen so that I may catch my breath, wipe my tears and see the parted storms reveal the forgotten blue sky.

Remind me, however you can, that this life isn’t meant to mirror anything else I’ve ever witnessed. There is no counterpart twin to this soul’s path. And so, in my loneliness, in the vastness of the unknown, remind me that I, in fact, am exactly where I need to be.

I am accompanied by everything that came before me, and everything standing by my side, so that I may be me; right here.

Remind me of my light, dear spirit.

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Relephant Read:

A Reminder for Those Who have Forgotten how Amazing they Are.

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Author: Jocelyn Blanco

Editor: Toby Israel

Image: Tess Mayer/Flickr

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