belly
I had a singular but glorious conversation recently. I regret it was not longer.
In this conversation, two mantras were presented to me. There was not time nor space to engage with them so I would like to do that now. Best put the words down so they release from my mind.
“Life continues to exceed my expectations.”
“All, as always, is good.'“
If bad things are ultimately good in what we might learn from them, then I agree that all is good in the end. But when I think of my own life, I would say it has been hard, purposeful, and transformative. There have been healthy dollops of good thrown in here and there, but good has not been my word to carry. I will call it when I see it, but I am just as willing to name bad - pain, grief, sorrow, struggle, discomfort. Perhaps because of these adjectives, I prefer to step over good and acknowledge joy when it is present.
So for me, all is either grief or joy, most particularly because I appreciate opposites in how they allow me to consider what lives in between.
And expectations? Well I immediately think about healthy concepts that many consider taboo. Expectations and jealousy are both, as such. Name them so that they might step into the light for a discourse rather than slink into the shadows and whisper. But my life has not had room for expectations. Instead I have come to allow it - to allow life to pass through me. To name it, bend to it, use warm breath to encourage it from my hands. Oh gosh, I would love to expect from life. But I know I would only trip over my own heart if I did as such.
This singular conversation, it has me wondering if joy is pause and grief is work. By this I mean, is joy where we catch our breath and grief where we roll our sleeves up to listen and look inside. And are both - as always - (all) good, perhaps because both echo the joy and grief that has gone before?
We do this thing. We have conversations and voices slip through fingers only to echo afterward. We wonder of them and our own meaning, noticing what has come forward. We refine. Oh, how we refine.
I wish you would come back and joy a little longer.
Perhaps that is a mantra of mine, in all I have chosen to release.
Hands to my belly. Breathe.