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 too much until there is nothing to hold on to?
In a sense, looking back, I had met – the unfolding.
There has never been, until that period in my life a time I had been ushered into the sheer beauty and scatting 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 nor place else where, or a time that has passed or yet to come, nor rhythm of pulse that will ever compare to now. That is the lesson, a master class; what the unfolding had come to teach. Today, as the world appears more than ever, more fragile, there seems to be a knowing – of this moment, reemerging and altogether new.