(journal
entry a few days ago)
I
bring in frankincense to these sacred dark early mornings as a gift to myself,
but—more
importantly—
as
a way to open up a path to something unseen and divine outside of and within
me.
It
is a conduit: all that smoke rising up in curls and crooked pathways. Infusing
the air, but also the soul, with
awakening
beauty
a
sense of excitement even amidst a deepening calm.
Settling
to roots.
Open
to a miracle.
And
nothing shy of pure abiding in the unknown of the next second.
A
reminder to Now: to be without agenda, only with presence.
Over
and over.
One
breath to the next.
This
is how we can do it—this life with its precarious instability that we
mistakenly see as “stability”; but then we
protest
beg whine cry
when
life does what it naturally is wont to do by its very nature and physics of
aliveness:
it
shifts.
We
call it “change” and we make it utterly solid:
steel,
cement—locked and impenetrable.
But
even if we softened our idea about change to
“solid
as a rock”
we’d
be better for it—for at least rocks have the spark within (thanks, Charles Simic)
and
the divinity of being natural (not human-constructed).
So
here I sit as my pen flows my lifeblood onto the page.
And
I am made more whole this morning. Again.
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2017 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
