Composing calming instruments is your individual orchestral masterpiece. Recognition is like the burst of birth, after being cozied in the womb. Seeding the soil for having the same leisure as our formation days doesn’t come any more naturally as many deliveries. Everyone should swerve the boon of unburdening in their warp of time. Convenience is not a simple plugin. Formulating safe space is most often an exertion. Usually minus the energetic lust. When we’re desperately in need of bodily tenderness we’re so at our wit’s end we quickly might continue to mask the true calling for faux mercy of popping a pill, else eating or drinking some dastardly item to plow onward. The sweet swap is knowing to trade your personal slavery for the initiative of awakening the absence of intensity. As we quiet the quarrel of debate for our self-care, we open our subsistence to dominions of a spellbinding plea. Carve fantastic slivers of unflappable.
There should be at least a room, or some corner where no one will find you and disturb you or notice you. You should be able to untether yourself from the world and set yourself free, loosing all the fine strings and strands of tension that bind you, by sight, by sound, by thought, to the presence of other men….
Once you have found such a place, be content with it, and do not be disturbed if a good reason takes you out of it. Love it, and return to it as soon as you can, and do not be too quick to change it for another. ~Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
My body was trying to tell me something was wrong. In place of my well-versed migraine theme was a basic dull headache. As the outdoor cloud cover wore through dark to light to dark again, the pounding grew louder. Logic was lost to me, as I’d been eating so plant-based healthy for more than a month I ruled out food as any initial offender. (Note to self, a la Gavin De Becker’s The Gift of Fear intuition heed: that one’s first gut instinct typically presents the poison.) Before sunset could attempt to break the dark skies, I was curled in a fetal bow beneath the covers. Not one for loafing as much as labor, my thinking was I’d catch a literal cat nap (with the cat) and pop up refreshed in an hour. The next day would be the turning of my insides back outside. Puking nine times in one luminary cycle is exhausting in the least. I’d been failing to pay attention to the signs when this all started. Once I remembered the art of obeying our core, I crashed into comfort mode. So began a ritual I’ve been perfecting my entire life.
When woeful with affliction, we ought to be looking through the disease to locate our flanks of ease. These are the flashes where circumstances bring declining moments to a glide. Delusions are kindred with bad hallucinations. Interestingly enough, I tend to procure bad dreams when I’m sick. Hand in hand, any obsession I have in trying to push myself to feel better faster only exacerbates the anguish. Dropping into some reach of zen is the den I desire. I’m primely fond of a pile of pillows atop the perfect mattress, laced with the right amount of cool temperature plus the side of warmth from a fluffy duvet and one of those silky-soft textured blankies for adults (sure, and children alike). We forget the value of resting in this waking world. Dislocating the masochism that has us hungering to keep a crazy gait unlocks lulling remissionary ease. Slumber is the opiate with which we could all afford an addiction.
Sleep’s second cousin is most certainly meditation. Such sound sitting is to set out without a scorecard. Yet, you’re scoring major humane points. Herein, it’s all about setting aside judgment. We tumble formalities in favor of warm familiarities. Meditating is the musing of flipping aside stresses like you do those tv channels that don’t suit your taste. It’s an easy flick on to the next thing until you hit the jackpot on something that brings you joy. In drifts the secrecy of muffling your minutia, a sobering risk-free sanctuary for thee. Creating the scene for this case of ceremony that works for you may include chill tunes or the very distillation of any commotion at all. In pure observance of utmost suicide to nonsense, your service is seeking the ceasing of radically erratic rubbish. One of the speediest forms of soft idleness I’ve met is the devoutness supplied when we volunteer our bodies to let go and roost against time herself.
I have seen many storms in my life. Most storms have caught me by surprise, so I had to learn very quickly to look further and understand that I am not capable of controlling the weather, to exercise the art of patience and to respect the fury of nature. ~Paulo Coelho
We will never have the luxury of foretelling every wicked wake coming our way. If the tempests wave their rage at you, may you trust yourself enough to take your emphasis elsewhere. Kicking away the cobwebs of commotion focuses on activating your highest physical, mental, and emotional reputation. In my later years of worshipping more self-appreciation proceedings, a speck of time issuing a liquidation of me might also be topped with an appropriate dose of fluffy snuggles from whatever hairy critter I can come by. Along with a languid lapse submersed in the waterfall of a heated aromatic bathtub. Afterward, if I can bear it, there’s the pinch of fresh air for a light-induced stroll or the crackle of my joints jumping higher than the basketball goal upon the trampoline to reset my bloodstream back to chirpy cheer. Anytime we max our relaxing authorization we’re acknowledging we’re smarter than misfortune. Feed your belly of tensity the hypnotic fervor of hospitality.
Cure sometimes, treat often, comfort always. ~Hippocrates
Coziness is the way, the truth, and the light.