I am conflicted and torn. I’m torn between knowing what it means to live in the moment and knowing when something is worth waiting for. I am torn between being present to the now and holding space for what I truly desire to manifest in my life. I am torn between long term happiness and momentary satisfaction, gratification in this present moment.
I didn’t think this would be easy. I don’t know how I could. To walk away from the ease of convenient half-love and hold out hope for future whole love, complete love, pure love. The tension is inherent. How could it not be? How can I be in the midst of it all? What does it mean to just be here, to just sit in the tension? Have I even considered sitting with the tension an option? Is choosing doing? Isn’t every action and non-action a choice of some kind?
At times I feel like my heart is fickle. It betrays me in the presence of the sincerest offer of the incomplete. It is tantalized by the invitation to settle. Exposed is its longing to be loved, to be held, to be close, to be connected, to be respected, to be delighted in. Concealed are the answers it wants to questions the mind parades in front of it, taunting it. Can you do this? Can you really do this? Can you wait? Is it worth waiting for? Is it worth waiting for the uncertainty when the certain half-assed alternative bangs at the door, throwing itself at your feet? Water flows downstream, doesn’t it? It finds the path of least resistance? Be the water.
What would the water do? It returns to its Source, ultimately, I am told. It flows through life taking each twist and turn as it comes. It doesn’t stop. It keeps moving and accomplishes its work as it passes along its way. It doesn’t think about the next move, the next twist, the next turn. It responds smoothly, easily, gently and quietly to every obstacle it encounters. It transcends each one – not in triumph, but in gentle, fluid, instant adjustments to what it finds along its path. And when it’s divided, it seeks its own and is quickly reunified just beyond what caused the separation. It flows from height to depth, only to ascend again. Only to ascend again. To ascend again and begin its journey along its next way.
Can I learn from the water? Can I flow without resistance? Can I allow the way to unfold before me without creating my own obstacles? Can I know the course, know the desired end and not be unsettled by the means which takes me there? Can I be present to all I feel in the descent without obstructing it, without clinging to the obstacle along the way for momentary half-safety? Does the heart know the way of the water? Does the heart know the way?