Healing.

I’m not doing anything.

I’m not going anywhere.

I watch tiny house videos on YouTube.

Or cats that are best friends with dogs, or otters, or foxes.

I lose myself in hours and hours of talks by Eckhart Tolle or Adyashanti.

I just sit in bed with my eyes closed.

I go to the forest and walk around on the grass, barefoot.

I sit in the sun.

Watching the lake.

I eat something.

I look out of the window.

It’s the most unspectacular thing ever, but it might also be the truest.

I’m not going for gold, I’m not recording a coaching program, I’m not trying to improve myself, there’s no striving or reaching or pushing.

I’m healing, because it’s time.

I’m healing the many wounds that I covered up with all the tricks I learned to be and feel happy and content and awesome.

I’m healing and feeling, everything.

Without a plan, but graciously flowing.

I cry and I sigh and then I laugh, softly, gently.

It’s like I’m holding myself, giving myself space to go through things I didn’t want to go through, but I feel vulnerably confident.

It’s not dramatic: it’s just really real, and simple, and pure.

I’m tired and I’m sad and my body hurts, and it’s all, well… comfortable.

I feel invited by stillness, and I listen.

I feel inclined to slow down, so that’s what I do.

Slow.

Down.

It’s not the end of the world, it’s a beginning.

I’ve never felt change so clearly.

And throughout the day, wherever I am, I close my eyes in meditation, or in connection, and I simply rest in awareness.

I rest in awareness.

But I’m not doing anything.

It’s good.

All of it.

(Photo by @adamkring, for Unsplash)


Ik houd van jou.

Ik houd van jou.

05/10/2018
Wisdom bombs.

Wisdom bombs.

11/06/2020