Everything we do has purpose...
ˈpərpəs: noun 1. the reason for which something is done or created or for which something exists. It is...motive, motivation, grounds, cause, occasion, reason, point, basis, justification...
It is our intention or objective...
I collect shells and driftwood. I build with large power tools. I make homemade gifts (because they mean more) and I play hard with those I love (even though I am a bit squirrelly most days).
I empower my child. I draw on streets, eat chocolate and and I teach.
I craft and hunt trees and paint when I need to be still and quiet.
Somedays aren't great.
So I sit.
I stay quiet.
I fold and release anything not serving me into this gracious earth.
Somedays I just lay on my mat.
... and that's okay.
Somedays I am not my best self.
Today I am angry, irritable, bristly…
After 44 years of people telling and labeling me as bitchy, a complainer, self-centered...I have learned (in order to save a lot of heart aches of being misunderstood) to sense my own prickliness as it arises ...
and remove myself.
To just be still,
hover around the periphery and release control.
This way I don't inflict my progressive emotions on others.
I have no right to do that.
Today for that matter, this week...
I feel those thorns pushing through the surface of my skin almost as if it were a physical sensation.
I know the beach, the surf and the waves, the wind, the sand, the warmth...
it will help provide a retreat simply because of the expanse of space, sound, and water...
the distractions are many... for us all.
As everyone filters in their respective directions, I can be still, contemplative, thoughtful,
or at least that's what it seems to others.
When in actuality, I am protecting them.
"I give you space to explore, to be you, so I can withdraw and be me."
I can't find me with all these sharp external sensations.
I love those around me enough to know and see who I really am in these moments.
Everything we do has a purpose.
I watch for a while...
the structures they build in the sand,
the strength building,
the shell seeking,
the next project,
the next shell...
My purpose really is seclusion…
But I walk,
my chest tight.
I am alone with all this now.
Meditation isn't easy even for yogi of 14 years.
It's a concerted effort.
So I listen,
Just the breath.
Not the shells
or the waves
or my surroundings.
I don't care what it looks like to others.
I need to find me.
There are two steps per inhale and two for each exhale.
So I note
It's forced at first.
There is an inner dialogue…
"You need this…
They need this…
50 steps or so...
it is still purposeful.
then it's not.
We so often stop...
right before the break through.
The distractions pull us away...
I feel the sand blowing abrasively on the backs of my legs.
It pulls me away.
I hear yelling child.
I am torn again.
The breath pace broken as I bend to knee.
"Find it again...
It is there...
even with distractions."
inhale, inhale… exhale, exhale…
"It can be paced...
in the storm."
"Oh look, that's what I need for _____."
inhale, inhale… exhale, exhale.
I gaze forward. I see my loved ones...
my pace quickens.
I notice this.
"They will be anxious because I've been gone so long."
I feel the ground.
Heel, ball, toe...
and finally I walk as if my feet are kissing the earth.
Minute details are noted.
The etching in the sand of the spine caused by the waves.
The tiniest seaglass.
It's almost as if I'm swimming through space.
My breath nonexistent now.
My heartbeat slowed.
My mind has softened.
There is an acceptance.
My purpose forgotten.
Having no purpose is healing.
A knowing without answers.
A stillness in the moment.
Be still and know...