The Pause

A while back I missed my Friday morning routine of house plant watering. So my maidenhair fern, which had grown several lush arms, is now all crispy. So again I cut it back to black stubble and wait for new tender green fuzzy spirals to emerge. I have yet to nurture this plant to fullness, and yet it still comes back, as if it trusts untrustworthy me to return to this practice. 

After beating myself up about it, I see I am consistently inconsistent. I can sustain a yoga routine for a few months, then I miss a class and that's it for three years. Or only remember to take my blood pressure when my doctor's appointment is looming. Anything that is a routine routinely gets interrupted. 

But perhaps this is not a bad thing. In that time out, maybe my energies are needed elsewhere. And coming back to a practice after a break, we may be chagrined, but also refreshed and ready to commit in a way that's more fitting. After all, the point is not to become robotic and perfunctory, but to actively choose to show up.

I'm wondering if it's just me or if it's a universal human thing to break out of rhythm. The pause is a space where integration can happen naturally. My birthday today,Winter Solstice this weekend, and New Year's beyond that all say the same thing: time for another round on the great spiral of life. But they are all pause points too. Time to reflect, revisit our vision, recalibrate our trajectory. A pause to get current.  

In this winter holiday season, I hope you get a chance to slow down enough to pause and choose what's important now.

     

C is for Commitment

I wear two simple silver rings. On my left hand is a ring with a medicine wheel on it, to remind me to return to the sacred center even while traveling through the cycles of life. It reminds me of my wedding ceremony with all the celebrants in a sacred circle. In each cardinal direction sat representatives of the distinct life phases on the medicine wheel. I remember the red, round altar of candles on the floor, with our tobacco prayer ties spiraling out from the center, lit by our wedding participants' candles.

On my right hand is a spoon ring, with one end a spiral for water. Traveling along the ring, there's a sunburst for fire, smooth space for air, and finally markings that feel like seeds, plants, and earth. I remember nature and the vital forces within and outside of me.

Both rings remind me of commitment. It is a challenge to balance commitment to my sacred marriage and commitment to my sacred work. And really they are the same, to stay connected to what is truly important - the sacred and how it manifests in all I set sacred intention to. When I forget to wear them, my hands feel naked and vulnerable.

What reminds you of your commitments?