For a moment, just a moment all the parts of you, all the selves collapse into one being.
And you relax. Your heart is what it is, expanded or contracted.
And it’s in those moments when I feel terrified or exhilarated, because it’s in those moments when I am really living my life. Immersed.
It’s this practice. The surrender to this collapsing, this merging of selves (like merging all the layers in a photoshop document), that we learn to come back to over and over that brings us home. Bring us into our singular presence.
Thoughts might not go away, but they melt through me like a ticker tape. My attention moves from my head to my heart to my womb to my whole center spiraling.
Presence is a movement. A cyclical spiraling motion always beating and moving. Turning over and over like a turbine, constant flow. Receiving and giving, receiving and giving.
And it’s the ability to be still with ALL of that aliveness inside of me, to hold all of that, but still let it move, still surrender, that helps me feel myself. Reference myself. Commune with the life around me. Feel into what is being asked of me. Command my intention.
Being still with all of that is the most difficult thing of all.