A note of tenderness

This is what the things can teach us: to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly.

Hello. 

I think of you often during the week. Wondering what to say, what I need to hear. Sometimes I know what I want to write for days. Sometimes, like today, I am less sure. Less sure of what is moving through my body, Spirit’s whispering faint against the backdrop of overcast skies and baby cries. 

I write to you with a cup of tea nearby, seated on the couch, listening to the crackle of a fire, providing some warmth and a soft glow. 

I am feeling tender.

Tender to this season of quiet stillness, bare trees and long nights. Tender in the presence of grief. Vulnerable in the company of joy. Exhausted and hopeful and needing a quiet moment to let my body feel it all. 

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Let’s take a deep breath together.

One more?

Allow your body take the lead, for a moment. 

What does it need? (A good long stretch? A warm cup of tea? A good cry or belly laugh?)

Where does it hurt? 

Close your eyes, I’ll wait right beside you.

I admit my nervous system needs some relief. I’ve been caught in a bit of a produce/consume/produce cycle. Scurrying around the house, getting ready for the holidays, excitedly reading other writers’ newsletters, doing chores in fits and starts during little one’s 30-minute naps (bless the day they are longer). 

There is a lot of doing to be done. Becoming to become. It all feels urgent. 

Yet. 

The trees, naked against a cold sky are not anxious in their emptiness, afraid spring buds will forget to bloom when the time is right, nor petrified winter will overstay its season. 

There’s a natural pause built into the fabric of nature. But the holiday season offers an easy temptation to ignore the call for repose. Rest. Being fully present in your body. 

The cacophony of forced cheer is hard to ignore. Sometimes, it’s just easier to join in. Let the nervous system feast on the rush of adrenaline and sugar and caffeine and family drama. 

That’s okay, too. I’ve been there and will likely be there again. Probably as soon as I’m done writing you this letter. 

I guess, in this moment I’m giving myself the opportunity to take the tiniest time out. Permission to feel tender. To be with my tired body and heavy heart.

This is what the things can teach us:
to fall,
patiently to trust our heaviness.
Even a bird has to do that
before he can fly. 

-Rilke

Time to walk in the rain, look up at the sky and remember, birds still fly. 

And gravity holds us close to her chest, the warm embrace of a loving Mother, there to catch us when we fall. 

How are you?

What’s one way you can tend to your body and heart today?

How can we create a space within the Heartbeats community to tend to each other?

I’d love to hear from you, leave a comment below!