Belly Softens, Root Deepens

To shift perspective, we must change positions by noticing the one we find ourselves in. Perhaps a shoulder drops, a jaw unclenches, a belly softens, a root deepens. A breath comes, and goes. A thought or emotion acknowledged drifts to another, one that creates more space in the field, in the sinews, in the fluid between cells. We may adjust back and forth, expand, contract, tighten, loosen—it wouldn’t be art if it were only one or the other. 

We don’t need to land somewhere and expect it to be our final resting place. But without somewhere secure to anchor, a sense of settling in, we wander without clear sight. Sometimes all we see is what is right in front of us, lit by the candle we hold close to the heart. How we nurture this flame, by attention to its inexhaustible existence, determines how well it illuminates on the path ahead. Vision focused inward first allows the unfolding landscape to paint itself as we move forward. What appears before us or within us may not be as it seems as first glance. With deliberate movement across the dangling bridge between danger and beauty, we become subtly attuned to the accuracy our perception, and just how changeable it is. Intentional exploration of what is possible becomes the interplay of sculpting what we desire, and reckoning with what is here for us now.


Sometimes we lasso a star that burns light years ahead of us, and slowly collect its radiance, a bright becoming into the one who patiently awaits our arrival. Each step becomes the next one, colors bloom and shift, swirl and muddle, leave and return. We let transformation take us, anchored to earth body, cosmic body, heart blooming center— rooting and dissipating simultaneously.


We sense what is to come, or what we will become, long before it lands. Follow sensation, play with story, and give enough room to let the story change. Mastery requires critical review of all facets of our experience—we don’t know something until its shape has changed at least a few times, until we have changed shape more than a few times.

I wonder how playful discernment could be? Like juggling two disparate ideas that spontaneously merge into one ball of light, the one we hold in our palms, beaming from our heart, something to embrace, to create with—might this be a way to see that one thing we’ve seen a thousand times, and start to feel, see, sense, and know it in a different way? How would it feel to bring the wandering ones within home? To let all their paradoxical perceptions linger, to hold them, listen to them, and send them off again into the world, sure of the only thing we can be sure of—that they have been loved.

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