Don't turn away

The dawn yawns, hinting of autumn; the sun is sluggish, unusually, to rise and evaporate the night's milky breath. Nevertheless, as I walk through the garden tweaking here, tweaking there, the sprinkler on too, I breathe in deep, in deep - to below the sleek, taught muscles that encase my very gut - the dew laden ozone, the gift of today.

Cool enough to warrant a light blanket, I sit back on my rickety-battered-outdoor couch and begin my pages, next to a steaming, white porcelain bowl of green tea.

Dear God, I pray for wisdom and understanding. Writing, like I did yesterday, of men's hearts, I pray especially for the wisdom and understanding of those intricately wired, delicately balanced, nuanced, enigmas that are much more than the sum of our parts.

To an extent that I allowed it, mine is broken; I'm nursing the purple bruises and tenderness, my proneness (yesterday to sobbing) to weeping: I had put it out there believing.

I'm left foundering and wondering what changed, and why the wind's (gone with) direction altered?

I will not easily be trading mine again on the stony-cold, mortuary-like floor of the heart stock exchange.

But simultaneously I will not stop putting out my tendrils to where, often naively, I believe the nurturing sun and rain of growth and potential to be. I'm reminded of Bach's words of wisdom:

"Don't turn away from possible futures before you're certain you don't have anything to learn from them."

And so I again consciously move from
Doing to Being...into the space that Robin Sharma calls 'free flow':

"Free flow is a state of living where you have present moment awareness. Every cell within you is engaged in the moment you're living."