Where we might begin a story is a moving target. \u00a0Did it start with a particular moment? \u00a0And what moments led to that moment? \u00a0How does one decide where to locate the beginning or tell the story of the journey; the arrival at the next journey? \u00a0Does one start with the feeling of the new, or the small ending that gave rise to that feeling? \u00a0Or is there a way to speak at all what we know or who we are as the infinite present moment that is all of existence? \u00a0I suppose this is the unending quest of the seeker, to place this moment in all moments and yet, to trace the journey and it\u2019s infinite complexity and unfolding. \u00a0The beginning I am thinking of tonight is a moment that lives in this moment and brought me traveling here instead of someplace else. \u00a0I was tired. \u00a0It seems the past 4 years have just been that. \u00a0This particular weekend, I was spent. \u00a0I was past my edge and the message that I engaged in was around compassion. \u00a0I felt like I was a thoughtful student of compassion. \u00a0I took a small inventory and felt I had it \u00a0mostly covered. \u00a0And as I listened to the speaker, I noticed I was thirsty. \u00a0We had been specifically instructed to take care of our physical needs\u2026even if it meant getting up in the middle of a speaker and I sat there. \u00a0I looked around and located the hospitality table. \u00a0I sat there. \u00a0I checked my watch. \u00a0I sat there. \u00a0And when break came, I went on my way to my next workshop. \u00a0I didn\u2019t get a drink.<\/p>\n
And then there was the dream. \u00a0\u201cShe\u00a0comes home and finds that he has joined the military. \u00a0He says he needs to take his fitness goals seriously. \u00a0She is enraged and confused. \u00a0Will she have to move? \u00a0Will he have to go to war? \u00a0Is there any way out of it?\u201d \u00a0My shoulder was clenched tight for weeks and wouldn\u2019t release. \u00a0I believe it was threatening me with military action if I couldn\u2019t pay attention to my self compassion. \u00a0Oh.<\/p>\n
It was time. \u00a0It was a moment of letting go. \u00a0It was a moment of decision to choose something better and more beautiful. \u00a0The yes, one of the yeses began there. \u00a0Yes I hear you. \u00a0Yes I will care for you. \u00a0Yes, I will get a drink. \u00a0I will choose life over death. \u00a0But it hasn\u2019t stopped. \u00a0Since then I\u2019ve had to make this a practice. \u00a0When I said\u00a0yes to that, over and over, \u00a0I opened the door to a kind of fantastical chaos that is billowing through my life turning everything over. \u00a0The in-breaking of Spirit is always disruptive\u2026.and profoundly alive. \u00a0Yes. \u00a0Yes to Life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Where we might begin a story is a moving target. \u00a0Did it start with a particular moment? \u00a0And what moments led to that moment? \u00a0How does one decide where to locate the beginning or tell the story of the journey; the arrival at the next journey? \u00a0Does one start with the feeling of the new, or the small ending that gave rise to that feeling? \u00a0<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":212,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-211","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-category"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/211","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=211"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/211\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":213,"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/211\/revisions\/213"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/212"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=211"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=211"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.sarahcledwynblog.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=211"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}