Which wishes will . . . ?

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It has been a part of my practice for many years to create intentions for the new year.  But this year, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.  My intentions in the past have run the gamut from overwhelmingly ambitious (e.g., “I will completely overhaul every aspect of my existence in 42 different ways, immediately, and all at once”)  to woefully abstract, intangible, and therefore unattainable (“I will embody gratitude”).  Too often, setting intentions felt like allowing my superego to hold my face to an irrational grindstone of perfection, or blowing wishes into the wind and just hoping that some magical entity would bring them into being for me.  More than this, my intentions always cast my gaze into some future state where I imagined my contentment lived, leaving a bitter aftertaste of “right here, right now ~ just like this ~ is not ok.”

This year, I couldn’t quite figure out whether any of this was actually very useful, or even desirable.  So I sat in the discomfort of wanting to both honor this present reality as a beautiful expression of Life As It Is, while also reminding myself of what is important to me. In its own time, a question arose.

Does what I am currently

thinking / feeling / deciding / choosing / expressing

right now, in this moment,

contribute to my overall sense of balance and joy?

Instead of a resolution, I landed on an invitation to self-inquiry, a way of staying as close to my own heart as possible, of being held by Presence itself, of walking a direct path to my own this-moment inner guidance.  And so I offer you the question . . . what question is holding you right now?  And will you let it?

Light bright, light bright

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It’s that time of year. We sit in reflection of the year gone by.  We imagine ways to shape the year to come.  We shine a light on our own beings with the innocence and wide eyes of our own child selves.  We make resolutions. We are resolute ~ “admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering.”  The days are waxing. The light is increasing. And in this moment everything feels so . . . hopeful.  Our intentions are so very, very pure.

But what happens next month, or next week, or tomorrow, or even (as a friend of mine experienced) 11 hours later (8 of which were sleeping) ~ after defining our new selves so admirably, so purposefully, so determinedly, so unwaveringly ~ what happens when . . . *gulp* . . . we fail?  How do we meet our own precious humanness? Is there shame? Anger? Disappointment? Self-aggression?  Or is there possibly, even in the midst of a swirl of negativity, is there the sweet, tiny voice of compassion?  Is there a whisper of our basic human goodness? A reminder that we weren’t really all that broken to begin with? A remembering that even with all of the _______ that we wish we weren’t, and even without all of the _______ that we wish we were, that we are still and always inherently lovable?  Is there . . . ?  Maybe . . . ?  And how can you tune into the light that is already in you ~ the one that requires no resolutions to shine ~ the one that your child self lived unabashedly, unwaveringly, without resolutions ~ how can you tune into that place of inner brightness and find out?