Silent Self Acceptance

It’s in the quiet moments when we find out how happy and content we really are. We find out things like -

• Can we see the beauty in our surroundings? - Can we even “see” our surroundings? - Does the air feel good and full as we breathe it into our lungs? - Are we even breathing -taking full breaths? - Does our essence -our life force- feel comfy and cozy where we are? - Does it feel like our life force is even alive?

Total quiet and stillness is a place where every moment swells large, then curls in upon itself as it passes. Moments when we realize exactly who we are …and exactly who we’re not.

I think these moments are so hard to “have” and so hard to face because they hold information that may, or may not match up with how we think ourselves to be. It’s so easy to build up an ideal of another when we want to like them -especially when we want to love them; how can this not be so when it comes to “wanting” to love ourselves?

I remember when I was in my twenties. Back then everyone my age was so proud and coveted about their “little black books” (as opposed to the little black Blackberries the young folk use today). The more names and addresses and phone numbers in it, the more accepted and desirable you could consider yourself to be.

I remember periodically (more like weekly) flipping through the pages of my little black book, making sure I had a comfortable number of people to call or visit at will. To know that I would never have to sit in my apartment alone if I didn’t want to. And I never wanted to.

I remember feeling a fine mist of panic sitting in the pit of my gut as I flipped through it’s pages. I never wanted that book to be empty. If it would ever be empty, I would just die. That’s what the mist -the panic- said to me. And so keeping my little black book full became a “subliminal” priority task within my daily life.

And it wasn’t even about the number of lovers versus friends per page, for both were really interchangeable and it didn’t matter as long as they were there. They were all -in one way or another- my circle of influence, or so I thought. In actuality, they were really my “circle” of escape.

Interestingly enough, as the years pass, some how or another the quiet moments begin to grow in number. It’s as if they lurk and stalk and seek out ways to find you. And when they do, it’s no small affair. Like,

… when your mother diesrn… when your love
betrays yourn… when you lose your jobrn… when you lose your dignityrn… when the last puff of innocence vacates your soul

In these moments, there’s no one there but you …and you. And you can’t help but notice, but see who you really are versus who you thought yourself to be. Ah yes -there is a method to this madness …good reasons to run, to escape …all of them.

God help the little human who becomes bored with his little black book (or Blackberry). And God bless the soul who never had one, for he is a contented soul.

He is the one -the “chosen” one- who walks through a moment, a quiet moment, with his eyes wide open and watches it swell and surround his soul. And feels his soul lie back in the arms of that moment. And he breathes his presence in deep full breaths that soften his lungs and tickle his spirit. And as the exhale starts to form -to push its way out- so the moment starts to curl in upon itself, and it goes with him to meet the next one.

He is alone. He is content. He is free.

He is his circle of influence and he knows who he is and he is who he thinks himself to be. And so -there is no where to run.

There is no need -to run.