Learning to be more deeply aware of feeling.
Raw feeling bubbling at the core of us, like stew simmering in a rich broth.
Noticing the ways, like old rutted paths, that I unconsciously push away feelings which hurt, ache, cry, despair, anger, suffer.
Subtle ways the carrots or celery or onions refuse to soften, even with flame.
Settling deeper into these renegade feelings. Allowing, allowing them to surface, to be.
As if watching a play, witnessing them enter center stage and depart through left curtain. Feeling, feeling them deeply without naming, trying to figure out.
How many minutes in a lifetime do we spend trying to package our challenged feelings in boxes sealed with duct tape? How many minutes do we ponder, ponder, ponder, until we’ve corralled the wild horses of our mind into fences, deciding interpretation of galloping messages in order to resolve for future stampedes?
I’ve tamed dozens of stallions and mares in this wild pasture of Mind. Yet now the effort of taming and understanding feels unnecessary. Let the wild ponies run free. I shall watch them, all day if necessary, curled fetal if required, dodging hooves in the mud.
Look at the arbutus blooming in the mud as the wild horses prance! Look at the pinto rearing on hind legs overhead!
Roll over gracefully, brush yourself off, and gracefully lope over to the fence. Gaze at the snow-covered mountains.
I will meet you, dear feelings, in this pasture as we grow old together and allow you to graze on rich grasses spiked with sage and mint.