When I hung up my corporate cap back in February of 2016, moving to a new place and focusing on the sole task of finishing my first collection of poems titled Landslide, the personal crisis I was going through appeared to usher in a new level of insanity.
How do you let go of a world you’d grown accustomed to for something new? How was this new healing and restorative canvas of words I was drawn into going to pay the bills? In the space of contraction and expansion, how does one remain true to the call of change resounding deep within, particularly in times of solitude, without shedding so much that there is nothing to hold on to?
In a sense, looking back, I had met – the unfolding.
Until that period in my life, there had never been a time I was ushered into the sheer beauty and luminousness of surrendering to presence. As scary as that season was, without it I can never look back and feel there wasn’t a time I had more aliveness, both within and amidst.
There is no place else where, or a time that has passed (or yet to come), or a rhythm of pulse that will ever compare to now. That is the lesson, the master class; what the unfolding had come to teach.
Today, as the world appears more fragile than ever, there seems to be a knowing , an understanding that this moment is – reemerging and is altogether new.