Time and time again, I see the dance I dance and, dangit, it's crazy-making.
There's a jig I do. It's mine and mine alone. It's not always the fun, shake my bootie, life is glorious dance. It's often more like the merry-go-round kind, with awful music in the 100+ summertime heat.
Luckily as I age (not always gracefully), with each footstep and dance move, I'm perfecting my ability to tune in and see myself a little further from all the commotion. A little distance from the happenings.
Ahh...
This is a really good thing, to see a new way in, to choose a different place to lay the dance floor, to direct the stormfront a bit. With a little distance, the choices of things to say, feel, do in the moment seem a plenty.
Usually I choose to stay in my comfortable little old dances, though, as if something about the swirling dance party storm I'm creating is comforting, and safe.
When my dances turn into storms, maybe those storms are actually just what I need to catapult me into a new thought or space or place. Like, I am creating the storm for MY benefit. I can at least acknowledge what I've created, see it roaring over me with a wand, and a fire, and a wind of intention. Instead of the storms defining me, they can kick my ass so I can create a brand new dance move. Shake Shake Shake, Shake Shake Shake ...
If I let it take me up and out of the same ol same ol, I could land in a new idea or fairy-land place or clean crisp space or ANYTHING that is better than the repetitive nature of my actions, words, fear, or whatever drama I'm seeking to distract me from whatever good is right in front of me.
But Oh, the places I don't go. I often feel trapped by myself, in a container of my own making. I don't ride the storm, or see it as a way to uproot into a new way to be - I make it a definition of me, I make it a representation of the wrongs. Oh how I'd love to ride the storm like a cowgirl who knows this stuff ain't no thang.
There is always a choice of places to go. There's a sweet little me I can check in with when things get stormy; if I can split off from my not-so-blissed out self for a sec, locate the part of me who knows what is real, that part of me who remembers she created this storm to get herself uncomfortable and learn some things and grow into a more graceful, thankful dancer ... then, Oh, the places I'll go.
Love is the answer,
XO Laura.
There's a jig I do. It's mine and mine alone. It's not always the fun, shake my bootie, life is glorious dance. It's often more like the merry-go-round kind, with awful music in the 100+ summertime heat.
Luckily as I age (not always gracefully), with each footstep and dance move, I'm perfecting my ability to tune in and see myself a little further from all the commotion. A little distance from the happenings.
Ahh...
This is a really good thing, to see a new way in, to choose a different place to lay the dance floor, to direct the stormfront a bit. With a little distance, the choices of things to say, feel, do in the moment seem a plenty.
Usually I choose to stay in my comfortable little old dances, though, as if something about the swirling dance party storm I'm creating is comforting, and safe.
When my dances turn into storms, maybe those storms are actually just what I need to catapult me into a new thought or space or place. Like, I am creating the storm for MY benefit. I can at least acknowledge what I've created, see it roaring over me with a wand, and a fire, and a wind of intention. Instead of the storms defining me, they can kick my ass so I can create a brand new dance move. Shake Shake Shake, Shake Shake Shake ...
If I let it take me up and out of the same ol same ol, I could land in a new idea or fairy-land place or clean crisp space or ANYTHING that is better than the repetitive nature of my actions, words, fear, or whatever drama I'm seeking to distract me from whatever good is right in front of me.
But Oh, the places I don't go. I often feel trapped by myself, in a container of my own making. I don't ride the storm, or see it as a way to uproot into a new way to be - I make it a definition of me, I make it a representation of the wrongs. Oh how I'd love to ride the storm like a cowgirl who knows this stuff ain't no thang.
There is always a choice of places to go. There's a sweet little me I can check in with when things get stormy; if I can split off from my not-so-blissed out self for a sec, locate the part of me who knows what is real, that part of me who remembers she created this storm to get herself uncomfortable and learn some things and grow into a more graceful, thankful dancer ... then, Oh, the places I'll go.
Love is the answer,
XO Laura.
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