I’ve been spending a lot of time in quiet. Trying to get my bearings, waiting for the ride to slow.
I’m reminding myself to breathe, to soften. Giving myself the little extras.
I keep asking: Why am I so upset?
Part of me is surprised to be feeling this way. As if it’s a problem, an inconvenience. As if some part of me is difficult because I am functioning at less than 100%.
And yet, here I am.
I can feel there’s this invisible thing I’m trying to find.
So I do what I usually do when stuff like this happens: I sit with it.
I get quiet. I slow down. I cancel plans. I take walks. I make art. I take baths. I watch movies. I make comfort food. I read. I talk to the friends who get it, and give space to those who don’t.
And all along, I keep asking my heart how it’s doing. I ask what I am needing. I let myself rest.
This is not always comfortable, though.
A wildness has been activated at large.
It’s not happening to just one of us, or just for one party, or in just one part of the world…it’s moving through us all. An awakening. A dawning. Something is cracking, and more light is entering.
We’re finding our way of dealing with it — each in our own way, in our own timing, according to our own compass and landscape.
Nobody has cornered the market on the best way to deal, and this isn’t always easy. I feel it. And I can’t push it. This thing has its own timing.
It reminds me of when I was little and somebody would throw a quarter into the deep end of the swimming pool and I’d kick my way down there, trying to retrieve it.
I couldn’t always see the quarter clearly, and the pressure of the deep was more than I could manage. Eyes burning, arms tired, I’d pop back up to the surface gasping for air, frustrated with that invisible wall I couldn’t get past.
Just like now.
I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something’s heavy deep down. There’s a little something hidden in there somewhere, waiting for me to find it.
A friend reminded me today: The answers will come in their own time.
It’s tough not to know what’s happening. It’s hard to stay open and trust. It’s so much easier to say we know what this is…but sometimes when there’s pain involved, that’s really us trying to slam the door shut. That’s us trying to push some sort of ‘keep calm and carry on’ when this is anything but.
So yeah, perhaps at first it will seem like the Big U just hocked a terrible loogie at your feet, and for a while you’ll go around feeling shocked and disgusted, but upon patient, closer inspection, you’ll see it’s really a gem inside your own heart which has been festering in the darkness. And upon kinder, gentler reflection we may see this thing’s been there waiting for us to find it.
And we might even see this bigger event is an offering of medicine to the part in us that’s been waiting. Maybe something is finally breaking free. Maybe now is the time. Perhaps this was the push needed.
Each of us can know for ourselves how this is. I can only say with certainty that this is how it feels for me.
If this is you too, welcome to the zone, my friend. This will be okay. We will be okay. Be gentle with yourself these days…this is the crack where the light gets in.
P.S. These photos I took while visiting Florida last month. I love the light reflected in the darkness in each of these. Let’s not forget the light is always present, sweet friend.
P.P.S I love the Leonard Cohen song, Crack in Everything and this post title is adapted from that song. He sings, Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
❤ Hello, sweet friend! I am available to work with you privately in session long-distance or in-person in Arlington Heights, IL learn more about working with me privately here. Did you know you can sign up to receive weekly inspiration straight to your inbox? Subscribe to my emails here. Always, if I can help, write to me here. Sending you love and peace! ❤
I’m Robin, some may call me an intuitive healer but I’m really a LIGHT SPARKLER. I help that light inside of you burn brighter so you can SHINE.