In The Midst Of Understanding Day 2 #100DOL
I learned something from yesterday's rumination on Holding the Emanation of Love.
it is almost impossible not to action Love to be a source of it.
Looking up what the word to emanate meant - to be the source of in a nutshell - I realised it is almost impossible not to action Love to be a source of it. Sitting in meditation trying send out waves or a continuous glow of Love is a monastic practice with no distraction.
A very immediate way to be source of Love is to be understanding.
Being Understanding requires new ways of actively listening.
It's rewards is that it gives space for everyone to acknowledge all the dynamics that are happening at any given moment.
It allows space for acceptance. It provides a moment of pause.
Which then leads to the glimmer of empowerment when there is anxiety or the simmer of hobbling negativity, and a sense of possibility to do something different, something new, to respond rather than react.
Today's Poem A hairs breath Between choked eruption and A soft palm on a cheek Eyes whispering "it's ok." Trying to heal. Sometimes we have wounds on our hearts that manifest as harmful choices and less than harmonious behaviours that hurt others. Our wounds ache, sting, itch as the emotional body works hard To scab over the tear in the flesh of feelings To protect them from further infection - harsh environments full of terror, full of toxicity. Infections make us infectious We might speak cutting words In hasty anger, harbour cold resentments Hold doubt and anxiety too close to our chest Hold them tight Till they become old friends Tight and too close to the place
Where our Heart lives
Till it beats against hardening walls and
Shouts mantras of mourning, muffled Behind thick sheets of glass, seen, but just barely
One day, someone will say With their mouths With their eyes With the way they turn and walk away - "You don't have to be so mean." And you'll remember that you forgot yourself For a moment and let the angry hurt speak for you And you might reproach yourself Hate that parts of the dredged And dogged past walks into a room in front you That your voice isn't the soft rain you'd hoped But the thunder that cracks before a roar And you brace yourself in the rip of wind
For the return of more slicing tears And then someone breaks the cycle And says, "You're not having the best day are you?" And suddenly
For a break
In the clouds
For the Sun
For a deep sigh
For understanding to thoughtfully pace