Filling the Sieve

1 March 2016

[Sufficiency isn’t] a quantity of anything.  Sufficiency isn’t two steps up from poverty or one step short of abundance.  It isn’t a measure of barely enough or more than enough.  Sufficiency isn’t an amount at all.  It is an experience, a context we generate, a declaration, a knowing that there is enough, and that we are enough. ~  Lynne Twist 

Filling the Sieve

Thinking I am not enough has been a formative issue for me.

In meditation yesterday, I experienced expansiveness:  a nothingness within space but more space.  My awareness fingered out into that nothing and found…everything… a profound wholeness, an abiding peace.

Naturally, within the next breath, ideas about a work project and the twinge of my calf muscle slipped right into that space.  Filling it up.  Making it…less.

But, for a moment, there was a deep experience of how much enough there is that requires so little.

It’s not easy to define ‘enough’.   To draw a line.  To define enough in a way that can stand up to the pressures applied to have more, be more, earn more, buy more.  To not need to cram in more knowing, more comfort, more perceived safety.

The feeling of not enough arrives from a lot of places.  Comparisons with peers.  Madison Avenue’s shouting.  Coy internalized cultural messages.  My parents words that I understood or misunderstood.  All of these sources will continue to beat the drum of insufficiency unless I choose to listen in to a different tune.  Unless I put the locus of discernment about what is enough within me.

Defining what is enough is a declaration of independence, a declaration of sovereignty over my life.  I think my one unique and precious span of days upon the earth warrants this from me.

Gratitude, an intentional generation of appreciation, is a key that throws the door open.  The more grateful I am the more I recognize the fullness in my life.  The more support and love I acknowledge, the more I show up as the person I want to be.

I also believe in that internal place of wisdom and peace that I connected with yesterday.  Easily drowned out or pushed aside, that space remains.  No matter how many times I ignore it, it persists — willing, generous, completely unfazed and ready to begin again.  It will make itself known when I’m available.  When I step out away from mental gymnastics and soften my focus, appreciate a moment of beauty, notice a friend’s expression, ask a question I cannot logically answer.

There is a teaching story about a wise woman who asks her students to fill a sieve with water.  All their efforts come to naught and finally they return the sieve to her, asking her to show them how it can be done.  She tosses the sieve out into the ocean and as it drifts and submerses, it fills completely.

Soaking, submerging within, I find enough.

And once again, I see how little it takes, how simple it can be.  How abundant enough is.

 

Image ::  SAVASANA: The Art of Conscious Dying by Jeannie E. Javelosa

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Touchstone – Open and Receive

26 February 2016

The most exciting discoveries happen at the frontiers.  When you come to know something new, you come closer to yourself and to the world.  Discovery enlarges and refines your sensibility.  When you discover something, you transfigure some of the forsakenness of the world.  ~John O’Donohue

Open and Receive Touchstone

I’ve been wishing I’d titled this week’s post ‘Open Sesame’.  Since writing it, I’ve felt buried, fretting over work and people, behind on everything, making crummy choices and loosing sleep over all of the above.  But, in the midst of this, there have been these little magical moments.  Tiny moments when I remembered to open up…and suddenly everything expanded.

A portal swung open as surely as if I’d uttered a magic chant.  Open Sesame.

My iPhone screen is a luminous image of a deep, dusky blue sky with sparkly stars and billowy silver clouds that I adore.  That image gets covered over with apps but all I need to do is swipe away those preoccupations, and that luminous sky is right there, waiting.

Life is like that, too.  When I’m willing to see things differently, the world becomes different.  Not the circumstances perhaps, but how I view them can alter how I show up and what I have to offer when I arrive.  Sliding aside my thoughts, not because they are wrong or unimportant, but because I’ve realized they are not the whole of everything, I cross into receiving a bigger, fuller picture.

Standing in that portal, my worries don’t evaporate, but they find their place, or not, within the expansive reality of life on a planet where hard, inert seeds know when to push up from the dark toward a different strata, where crawly caterpillars descend into stillness and emerge as winged creatures, where something as ethereal as love delivers palpable strength.

Here, in this space, is the knowledge that we are all part of the mysterious workings of a breathtaking world.

 

I’ve shared several of Jena Schwartz’s poems because I love her words and her wisdom, and how cleanly and accessibly she lays them both out.  Reading her post, The Skin I’m In, this week was one of my magic moments.

 

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Open and Receive

24 February 2016

Stillness is not about focusing on nothingness;  it’s about creating a clearing.  It’s opening up an emotionally clutter-free space and allowing ourselves to feel and think and dream and question.  ~Brené Brown

Open and Receive

On the way back from the mailbox, I stooped to pull a few weeds.  My mind was full, occupied with the people I care for, the things happening in their lives and the afternoon schedule ahead of me.  In that minute, the faint call of a sandhill crane pierced my thoughts.

The sound is unmistakable; a soft warble, a trill that turns the sky into a vast enchanting realm.  I stood and brought my gaze up in search of the birds’ long slender forms, but all I could see was blue sky and bright glare.  The lilting calls intensified, growing in number and volume.  It was a good-sized flock, neither overhead nor too distant, but with a hand shielding my eyes against the light, I still could not spot them.

Instead of marching ahead with my schedule, I closed my eyes.  The sun was warm.  My shoulders eased and breath deepened.  I suddenly noticed how the air was awash with spring — with the lush songs of various birds, the hum of bees darting between flowers, the heady scent of the daphne in lavish bloom.  The moment doused me.  Nothing was required but to yield, like the soft moist earth beneath my feet, and receive this baptism.

It is not often that I let myself, much less encourage myself, to simply open up and receive.  I am biased toward action.  Toward mending, tending, working, working out, trying, trying harder.

It’s a way of coping.  With what I see as the reality of what needs to be done.  With the feeling of not being enough.  With uncertainty.  There’s value in this strategy.  Things do get done.  I do feel better.  But, eventually, it all adds up to over-doing.

I can be so occupied with forward-ho! that I miss all sorts of things—meaning, humor,  affection.  But perhaps the biggest miss is that with my bias toward activity I brush right past what lies beside the path, the extent of the world beyond my feet.  I overlook and underestimate the magic of opening up and being receptive.  Of heightening my senses, thinning my skin, and tuning in to what lays at the edges of structure and consciousness.

Because there’s wisdom there, alive and vital.  An intertwining cosmos of awareness that operates beyond quantifiable accounting.

All around me, while I push forward on the path to get there, is ineffable mystery.  With a gentle expansion of awareness, I find a place where instead of me racing after life, life wends its way to me.  The source of creativity abides here.  Emotions and healing have space here.  There is a quiet from which answers arise.  A stillness from which peace descends.

We understand so much about how the world works.  And, simultaneously, we understand so little.  Is the crane’s warble chatter or celebration?  How do they navigate their annual journeys?  What do we understand of what the cranes know?

When I open up to the world’s scope and grandeur, I recognize I don’t know all the answers.  I see that the world is not black and white, but a zillion hues and shades.   There is wisdom at the edges of my awareness.  A large and fertile territory where I need only show up, let go of my load and allow my senses room to wander and roam.

When I opened my eyes, I saw the flock.  They circled above my house, gathering, their backs flashing silver.  Then, they spiraled loose into delicate vees arrowing north.  I watched them out of sight, wishing them safe journey and return.

 

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Touchstone – Three Steps

19 February 2016

It may be when we no longer know what to do, that we have come to our real work, that when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey.  ~ Wendell Berry

Touchstone Three Steps

Rest.  Kindness.  Freedom.

When I feel battered by life, misunderstood when it matters, or trapped by obligations, these simple actions wait, patiently available and accessible, if I am willing to turn my attention to them.

Rest and kindness are familiar, daily actions, but applying conscious intent to them injects them with a power boost.  Inhaling a deep, fully aware breath supplies restoration on a cellular level.  A sincere, mindful expression of appreciation can open hearts.  Each day presents infinite opportunities for rest and kindness.

Freedom, however, seemed like the odd man out to me, the one that does not fit with the others.  It felt complicated and even confusing.  Before figuring out how to act in a way that is free, there’s trying to define it and then somehow lay it in place within the structure and obligations of life.

But the word itself began to insinuate itself in me, tendril around my brain and whisper to me.  It didn’t wind up caring about definitions or boundaries.  It found its own way of becoming more familiar to me.  As I leaned into it, I began to see how it filled in gaps.  I began to realize that these three steps are like a musical trio, each instrument rounding out the effect of the whole by adding its own unique voice.

Freedom.  What is that?  Each time I asked, a different answer arose.

It’s noticing my thoughts traveling a well-rutted road and untethering my mind to let it wonder into a new landscape.

It’s being honest with myself or another about something I’ve skirted because it was scary or uncertain.

It’s being willing to ask questions that I have no answers for yet.

It’s trusting that I am not alone, and also trusting that it is within myself where I will find my own peace.

It’s accepting that mystery exists, that things we can neither understand nor change persist.  Yet, we are enough.

 

 

Landslide has always been a poignant song about questions and change to me.  The Dixie Chicks blend their voices into it here.

 

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Three Steps

16 February 2016

If you live the questions, life will move you into the answers.  ~Deepak Chopra

Three Steps

Often when I feel discouraged or weary, I’m resenting the way the world is.  And asking it to tend to me in a way that really only I can.

Joseph Campbell has referred to the big needs most of us experience at times as ‘god-sized holes’.  He’s alluding to the times and places where we need something bigger than we can comprehend to help us carry on and get through.  The times and places where we need to connect to our god-sized whole.

That’s not always easy for me.  Despite my devotional practices, I still have plenty of dark and lonely places.  Some days I need something simple, something reassuring I can touch right now.

This week has been like that.  I’ve felt worn by things I cannot change.  Pressed in on by a series of small things and not-so-small things.  Weighed down by specific personal hurts and clouds of what I think of as universal grief.

In an article in this month’s Oprah, Martha Beck discusses how some behaviors that resist our best efforts to change can be providing a ‘secondary gain’.  She makes a case for the power of three actions:  Rest, Kindness, Freedom.

My takeaway from the article was thinking about how these three very accessible routes could help me accept and even embrace those days when worry or pain has become overbearing.

It’s exactly at these times, when the world feels Too Big, that I am most in need of the ability to soothe and comfort myself.  When my relationships, my work, the physical trappings of life are running along smoothly, I can jog alongside and be up.  It’s when cogs jam, when the current shorts out, when the pain doesn’t seem to have an end in sight, that I can suddenly be gaping down into that big hole, fearful and anxious.

Rest.  As in going to bed 15 or 30 minutes early.  Rest, as in drawing in a few breaths that relax my belly, lift my shoulders and clarify my mind.  Rest, as in flipping the pain over to focus on the other side of the coin, the enduring shimmer of caring.

Kindness.  As in using a gentle, encouraging voice with myself.  Kindness, as in listening to my needs.

Freedom.  As in releasing my two-fisted grip on worry to let my senses open to the feel of the air right now, the scent of the daphne blooming in the yard right now, the beauty of the sky right now.  Freedom, as in accepting there are things I cannot change.  Freedom, as in giving myself over to gratitude for that shimmer of caring.

For decades, I thought tough times meant I was doing life all wrong.  I was embarrassed to confess difficulties because they seemed like types of failure.  And, I thought, how in the midst of this amazing life could I have times that feel so difficult, so unbearably hard?  Maturity, friendship, the honesty and wisdom of women like Brené Brown and Martha Beck, have helped me understand and appreciate the nature of life.  That it is ups and downs.  Joy and despair.

If we know joy, we will know pain as well.  They are inextricably part of the same fabric, part of being connected, a natural part of human life.

And it is all of it all at once.  Amidst the darkness, we find and light candles.  In the night, the stars are beacons of hope and guidance.

With a little rest, I’m able to look around and notice that the miracle of life is everywhere.  The miracle is not the exception.  The miracle is the commonplace.

With a little kindness, I’m able to reach out and make this moment a bit better.

With a little freedom, I’m able to let my mind expand into a bigger perspective.

Small steps will find their way.

 

 

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Touchstone – Full of Myself

12 February 2016

When I dare to be powerful, to use my strength in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid.  ~Audre Lorde

touchstone Full of Myself

I’ve done my share of putting someone down for being ‘full of themselves’.  Sometimes I’m provoked by behavior that seems boastful or conceited.  Other times, and maybe more often, the trigger is inside me.  Like that little twist of insecurity when a friend accomplishes something I’m scared to try.  Or the twinge of irritation when someone breaks a ‘rule’ that I conform with.  Or, the stitch of envy brought on by a comparison of my circumstance to a friend’s good fortune.

I think these sneaky undercurrents are insidious little tricks to justify staying small.  Ways to divert myself from a more positive, expansive outlook.

There are times and places for fitting in.  But, I also need to let my boldness out, to claim my right to this life and own my desire to create a satisfying experience.  There is life and magic in this, even when things don’t work as imagined.

Only I can let myself fill up.  When I do, I naturally spill over.  When I’m full, I unabashedly and wholeheartedly cheer for your fullness.  I can reach out for your hand when I stumble, and eagerly extend mine when you need it.  Together, we can laugh and cry, and lift our glasses to acknowledge the living in both our attempts and our achievements.

 

Virginia, a fun song about possibility, by Christine Kane here.

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Full of Myself

9 February 2016

“Women are still in emotional bondage as long as we need to worry that we might have to make a choice between being heard and being loved. ~Marianne Williamson, A Woman’s Worth

Full of Myself

This week I’ve been seeing an image of bound feet.  Feet so delicate and fragile, they were referred to as ‘lotus blossoms’.  A tradition that required that the bones of Chinese girls’ feet be agonizingly broken and bound in bandages that stunted their growth so that the shape and size of their feet could be manipulated according to the cultural definition of beauty.  A definition that involved permanently curtailing a woman’s ability to do anything that involved moving or even standing solidly.  She perched precariously on the 4″ stumps of her feet in order to conform, to be pretty, to be desirable.

I didn’t start out thinking of this image.  I started out thinking about the term ‘she’s full of herself’.  About how that term is a pejorative, a way of saying that a woman is arrogant and boastful.  And asking myself why that term has that meaning.  Why do we link the idea of being ‘full of ourself’ with being a braggart?

In my white, middle-class upbringing in late-20th century U.S.A, a historically rare and privileged situation for which I am immensely grateful, I’ve received a lot of cultural messages similar to the one buried within the phrase ‘full of oneself’.  Messages about staying small, staying safe, staying in the background:  Put others first.  Deflect a compliment.  Be small so others don’t feel small.

When I think about this, about making myself so small I couldn’t possibly threaten anyone, I see another form of binding, of incapacitating.

I took these messages to heart.  Growing up as the 5th child of five, my voice seemed to get dismissed and overrun.  I got used to that and shy about speaking up.  I remember the day in 6th grade when, in an impromptu race to the back playground fence, I beat the fastest boy in the school.  The subsequent fact that no one wanted to race with me anymore was repeatedly seared into my brain–don’t win if you want to play.  By then, of course, I was already hiding the A’s I studied hard to earn.

But now, I’m not convinced this is the way to thrive.  Now, I want to speak up and be heard.  I want to explore who I am, how I can express creativity and connect meaningfully.

I am not alone in this.  You are not alone in it either.

Brené Brown talks about how she ‘engineered smallness’ for herself.  Shonda Rhimes shares how she forced herself to let go of smallness and trade up into ‘badassery’.  Mary Oliver writes about not having to be good or crawl across the desert on our bare bellies.  Marianne Williamson has famously said it is our light we are afraid of.  These are all women I could’ve assumed never had to battle with the message they weren’t enough.  Yet, they have.  They have stepped out of a shoe that was clearly too small.  And because they have courageously dared to bring themselves out into life, they have enriched millions of other lives.

I think we all have friends who, like us, want to raise a flag in their hearts and take new ground.

Yet, still it’s habitual to wire my sense of boldness to another’s and carefully maneuver for the smallest place.  To discount my sense of self-worth because of all the faults and cracks I see in myself.  It nearly seems at times that I am determined to keep myself hobbled.

But, unlike feet, how I view my worth is something I can unbind and let expand.

I’m stepping into it gently.  Accepting a compliment with a smile and letting it truly sink in.  Being real and caring, but relinquishing the job of propping up others by making myself thimble-sized.  I’m working up to offering my truth even when it varies from another’s.

Because I believe the meaning tied to the expression ‘full of ourselves’ is all twisted.  It’s another cue not to listen to our own voices, not to consider our thoughts worthwhile.  But, in my experience, it is people who cultivate self-care and knowledge that can listen calmly, attend fully and offer constructive help that arises precisely from the fact of their desire and capacity to fill themselves up.  To be full of themselves.

This is scary for me.  And also powerful.  It’s not always comfortable.  Life isn’t.  But I can already feel the reward of expanding into a larger self with fuller dimensions.  I feel a honing of the joy of authentic connection, vitality and satisfaction.

I’m eager to be full of myself.  I’m excited about being with people who are full of themselves.  People who are full of their energy, their abilities, their dreams.  And all of us stepping right into the shoes that fit.

 

 

Footnotes:

Brené Brown, Ph.D, author and speaker, has broken open the topic of vulnerability, sparking a world-wide conversation.

Shonda Rhimes is a writer and producer for television, the creator of Grey’s Anatomy and How to Get Away With Murder.

Mary Oliver is an award-wining, widely honored and beloved poet.

Maryianne Williamson is a multi-published author and spiritual teacher.

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Touchstone – Yes… And…

5 February 2016

An emergent world invites us to use our most human of all capacities, our consciousness.  It asks us to be alert in the moment for what is unfolding.  What is happening at this moment? What can we do because of what we just learned?  An emergent world welcomes us in as conscious participants and surprises us with discovery.  ~Margaret Wheatley

Touchstone Yes...And...

Showing up into any given moment can require being brave.  I often feel awkward about how to be authentic in a situation or uncertain about  how best to add to.  Everything I can think of contributing seems silly or unpromising or unexpected.  It feels easier to wallflower, avoiding the risk of offering the wrong thing or looking ridiculous.  Safer by far to stay small, to listen to the voice in my head that asks, ‘who the heck do you think you are anyway?’

But, humans long for connection.  I long for connection.  And the only way I connect meaningfully is to be present and to venture adding myself.

Yes, I will say and do silly and unproductive things.  It’s a human given.  It’s getting easier to laugh at my mistakes and appreciate that they are indelibly a part of living.

Accepting this moment and engaging with its contents is courageous and honest.  Saying yes to this moment lays it open, reveals its possibilities, enriches its depth.

The more clearly I throw open the door to this moment, to what is embedded within it, to the feelings that emerge, the ideas I grasp, the scents that drift through it, the more alive and participatory I feel.

We live our lives in moments.  Tending moments, showing up with a yes…and…, is claiming and tending life itself.

 

 

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Yes… And…

2 February 2016

Love the moment, and the energy of that moment will spread beyond all boundaries.  ~Corita Kent

Yes...and

In her biography, Bossypants, Tina Fey has a great section about saying yes to the moment.  In her instructions for creating improvisational comedy, her first rule is that you agree.  You say yes to whatever your comedy partner proposes.  No matter how silly or unpromising or unexpected it may seem to you, your role is to agree.  Then, from there, you build on and add to.  ‘Yes…and…’

Fey’s guidelines, as she suggests, have an all-of-life application.  I’m finding saying ‘yes…and…’ helps me climb on board and partner constructively with life.

When I accept the moment, no matter how silly or unpromising or unexpected, I come into an authentic relationship with the present.  I am seeing and hearing.  I am letting it in.  I am respecting the fact of it.

This can be such a big step when the current situation is uncomfortable or risky.  It’s tempting to brush aside an unpleasant or frightening feeling, to cover it over, or try to rearrange circumstances.  Ultimately, I find this won’t usually work.

Creating a satisfying relationship with our life, our moments, seems to me like creating any long-term relationship.  Over the long haul, we need to show up and add to on the glorious days, the tough patches and everything in between.

Focusing on being more honest and present with my moments is not about striving, nor about pushing myself harder to achieve yet another goal.  I think it’s actually more like the opposite.  It’s about releasing my need to control, letting my guard down and trusting myself to be with whatever is.

I can so miss on this.  I can knee-jerk a ‘no!’ in nothin’ flat.  I can burn up a massive amount of moments resenting what is.  Thinking my husband should be different.  Should-ing on myself to be more.

But gradually, on what’s been a long road for me, I’m coming to a bone-deep acceptance that this moment, the very present moment, is unchangeable.  Deepak Chopra writes in The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success:

This moment — the one you’re experiencing right now — is the culmination of all the moments you have experienced in the past.  This moment is as it is because the entire universe is as it is.  When you struggle against this moment, you’re actually struggling against the entire universe.  

Wishing for a different present moment is fighting the whole world of what is.  All around the world are things that are beyond my control.  Out of my hands.

It turns out, that this moment is what is at hand.  This moment is where creativity and creation begin.  Where laughter emerges and love can evolve.  Where fresh options lay waiting.  And, where expansion into a new understanding tweaks everything to come.

Each new moment is unique.  Each is a cosmos, an infinite realm of experience and input.  Each is the bright flash from which I spring forward.

Walking into the moment, rather than resisting it, is stepping into a place of both expanded awareness and power.

Initially, this feels awkward, even scary to me.  Like opening the door to a stranger.  But with practice, it’s getting more comfortable, like opening the door to a friend, someone I want to invite in and deepen my relationship with.

When I say yes, I notice a subtle change in my body.  Abandoning the struggle to ‘perfect’ the moment or brace against it, there’s a release of deeply held tension.  Followed by a gentle quickening, a freer flow of life, an emergent inquisitiveness.

Whether I consider it sweet or sour, each moment is a full cup.  When I align with the moment as it is, I can drink deep and nourish a hard-wired need for connection.  The deep thirst for connection is quenched by moments of presence; with others, with spirit, with nature, with self.

Although it’s not always easy and certainly isn’t automatic for me yet, it is an amazingly simple and profoundly powerful thing to affirm my willingness to engage in the moment, to partake of my life.  To say yes…and…

 

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Touchstone – Filling our Bowls

29 January 2016

          The sun shines not on us but in us. ~John Muir

Touchstone Filling Our Bowls

It’s raining again, a gentle percussion on my skylights, a soft steady drip from the eaves.  It reminds me of the power of small, simple actions.  With small drops, the rain is filling the big 5 gallon bucket on my porch to overflowing.

My accomplishments provide me with satisfaction and pleasure, but when I leverage my self-worth on them, my bowl can both fill and empty capriciously.  When I attach worthiness to a number on the scale, how much I get done, or how someone responds to me, I wind up running hard, feeling insufficient and empty.

It was a treat to come across Desiderata this week, like bumping into an old friend.  I love the rhythm, the simple words slowly adding up to a full measure.  We are all children of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars.  Like the narcissus tossing fragrant white blooms in my yard without comparing themselves to peony or rose blossoms.  Or the doe, legs tucked beneath her as she lays under the oak tree, chewing cud and watching the world with big, soft eyes.  Or me, walking on earth while raindrops, tiny packages of life sustenance offered freely from the sky, fall on any face turned up to them.

Here, my bowl fills of its own accord.  In this place, I connect to knowing that we are inextricably woven into the ineffable, each of us a thread of the miraculous mystery.

 

Another treat of the week is this poem by dear woman Jena Schwartz:

What If You Knew                                                                                                                     

What if you knew that everything was going to be okay,                                                                 that something was in motion beyond your field of vision,                                                beyond even the periphery of your knowing?

What if you knew that everything you want,                                                                       everything you’ve been seeking,                                                                                                  trying to figure out, missing,                                                                                                               is right here, already whole                                                                                                                 in your hands, in your life?

What if taking in what is                                                                                                                could satisfy your longing?

What if you could rest your frantic, racing, busy mind                                                              and rest your neglected, tired body,                                                                                                put your head down in someone’s lap                                                                                               to have your hair stroked,                                                                                                                 like a cat, or a child?

What if you didn’t need to understand                                                                                         how it works,                                                                                                                                        but could enjoy the magic                                                                                                                    of how love shows itself                                                                                                                        in the most unexpected, simplest of gestures?

What if everything is just as it should be?                                                                                 What if nothing had to be better, bigger,                                                                            different, or other?

What would you do then?                                                                                                               Who would you be?

 

 

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