In the midst of destruction
You matter.
In the wake of fires, unnatural, the contemplations of perimenopause, self-love, and authentically embodying the formless in form, naturally, during all of its seasons—feels all too prosaic to matter.
And, yet. It matters. Our stories, the way we uniquely see and gift our seeing to the world—in what small ways—matters. The little moments mattering most.
My planetary purpose has nothing to do with convincing another or proving myself. Going through my own internal fires of transformation has led me back to the beginning, purified.
Instead of needing others to see and identify with yet another side. My gift is to zoom out of the unidimensional sides and ground in the multidimensional healing magic of Love. For Love truly is all that’s playing out. Ever.
Pain, loss, grief, tenderness, vulnerability, anger, fatigue, fog, confusion, gratitude, acceptance are all stages in release of matter and in the return to Love.
When we are faced with the fundamental meaninglessness of things, stripped bare, worn barren—that’s when we consciousness rebounds. Love reborn.
The things includes our stuff and stuffy identities, what we think we know and what we illogically refute.
In the whittling down to our most essential, we recover our essence, ourselves. And here, too, we see each other reflected in pools of light—our eyes. I’s. Where 2 reboots to 1.
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Beware of anything that asks you to go against another. For when we rail against another, we rally against ourselves.
Transcend choosing sides and choose Love.
This is often a slow renewal.
Maybe at first it’s just words, yes. But the words must take root, blossom & dawn in the heart.
Avoid the self-gaslighting & spiritual bypassing traps.
Accept all aspects of you fully—the things you like and the things you’d rather not.
As we heal within, we heal without.
There’s no end to the awakening available.
Let go of striving and the idea of a destination & be the best you can be now.
You matter.
Your healing matters
Your thoughts matter
Your words matter
Your tears matter
Your love matters
Your children matter
Matter. Mater. Mother.
The mental material becomes matter.
Our inner world births our outer world.
Your mothering matters.
How you mother and honor the little ones.
How you re-mother and honor your inner child.
How you birth and rebirth the formless into form.
I know you feel the collective shift, the verge of deep awakening.
The emergence of a new way of being.
It’s messy outside. Challenge precedes the big lessons.
Integration requires retrieval of the disintegrated dark parts of our selves.
Integration requires courage to see and love, stillness to be with it all.
See within clearly, not what you’re told you need to see out there & how you’re supposed to interpret it.
This is a mature teaching & a mature level of integration.
Mature. Ripening as a mother blooms the Divine into form.
Mature. Matter, Mother.
Stay in your own lane. Do your sacred work. Follow your heart to your own dharma/moment-by-moment purpose. Stop expecting everyone to have the same dharma as you.
Posting on social media may be relevant activism for one. Nurturing our children may be the most relevant global healing for another.
We are all sparks of Divinity. What we heal within, nourishes healing for all.
Your most potent calling may be in politics, but another’s most sacred work may be in fiercely loving and gently mothering her children.
The more you trust your own sacred calling,
The more you’ll trust the sacred calling of your children and all.
Follow your own path.
You’ve a built-in compass.
Your heart knows the way.
I see your courage, persistence, and blossoming grace.
You’re on the path. You are the path.
In the deepest part of you, you know where you’re going.
Trust yourself.
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Exactly five months ago, camping and meditating on the Atlantic coast, I wrote the following glimpse, which feels so relevant today, sitting in the foothills of the California Sierra.
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This morning my reminiscent child reminisces: “I miss when Rowan used to race bikes with me around this circle. We used to have so much fun.”
I can hear the simple heartache and acceptance, but also the fleeting nature of the thought shared aloud.
Because it’s shared aloud to me, it’s asking for more attention. It’s even asking for a response that will deeper embed the thought into reality. Reality: that figment of our imaginations.
What we seek, we find.
What we find, we share.
What we share, we employ into being.
If we are looking for reasons to be glum,
The Universe will totally support that.
We are camping at the ocean, warm Atlantic in August. It’s sunrise. I’m headed up the hill to meditate.
I chat with my son, balancing out the negative he notices; we remember outloud the beautiful, magical, miraculous. They’re all stories. Some of us just come into this plane with a tendency to speak the lack into ingrained existence rather than thank the expanding possibility of the than. Then, I drop into meditation.
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As I open my eyes—the orange globe risen higher, smaller, lighter—direct seeing can no longer pierce it.
One boy riding becomes two boys riding. “Hi,” says older brother to younger. And they race on, together.
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With compassion for all we are navigating at this time, and always, I hold you all in my heart,
Love,
Heather