It is all good – 69/100

A part of me doesn’t want to write.

A big part.

I didn’t want to write yesterday.

And I still don’t feel like writing today.

Sometimes the words don’t seem to flow.

Like they’re stuck somewhere within.

They are surely there.

I don’t think they’re waiting or anything, needing my permission to come through.

But they are surely there.

Sometimes it feels awkward to write because it feels so much like trying.

And I’m not against all kinds of trying.

I love trying – when it comes to experimenting, expanding in a delightful and lighthearted way.

I find it challenging when trying becomes a task at hand, an attempt, usually to overcome something.

It feels heavy.

Dense.

Unrelenting.

And sometimes that’s what writing feels like.

Trying.

Am I supposed to push through, seek some sort of breakthrough?

Am I supposed to squeeze out whatever I can in remembrance of a commitment?

Am I supposed to do anything?

Ha.

A part of me does feel like I’m working through some personal things, healing, releasing, growing, expanding.

I give myself grace and space to feel all I feel and go through it.

I honor myself.

Because sometimes when everything feels like trying, that’s the one thing to do.

Back off myself and honor the place within that is healing, releasing, growing, expanding.

Honor the emotions, the thoughts, the movements.

Hold them sacred, hold them close, hold them dear.

Not for any other reason than that it’s mine.

Mine.

What else is life but this – every experience that’s mine?

Knowing that, I can lean back and breathe.

I can be with me.

Even with the writing is trying.

Even when something I love and enjoy so much seems empty and forlorn.

Even then.

I cannot forsake myself, betray myself, turn against myself.

I’ve seen and felt and known what that’s like.

And it’s not truth.

What’s truth is much simpler, gentler, kinder than any logic I can weave together.

It’s wise, it’s pure, it’s knowing.

It’s free, feels higher, runs deep.

I can lean back into it, when my words seem like cliches, when they feel empty, when all I can do sometimes is stare blankly at the screen.

And it’s all good.

It

is

all

good.