It is beautiful this morning with the mist. All is wet and the bay is calm. Even the wake of the ducks seems not to exist. I respond well to the sunny days of late and yet when we have one like this, it is like living in a Japanese landscape and I feel the softest bliss. Inner welcomes out. The starfish places it stomach outside its form to feed. I am like that.
I am with sensing today, and thought perhaps I could share it. It is about touching ourselves, feeling within, feeling how much goes on within. Yesterday I was fascinated with all that goes on inside, and I am still feeling the reverberation of that exploration that continues. Yesterday I felt a tight place beneath my nostrils, that in being felt, released, and that led to a flaring of my nostrils and new breath coming up and through and out my nose and head. My eyes are wide, my head an open book.
It is fascinating to touch our own head. Place one hand on your forehead and one hand on your occipital ridge. Perhaps, not even a whole hand. That may be too much. Two interested fingers are enough to feel what happens inside. We may touch one another, but can we be there for ourselves? Can we touch our head, heart or gut with curiosity and interest? Can we take time to receive our own touch? I see that when I do, time slows or expands. I have enough, and I move in a circular rhythm I love.
Place your hand on your diaphragm. Are you curious about what happens there?
I am surprised to feel at times that I am very still. I like stillness. I identify with trunks of trees.
It is the weekend. Play with yourself today, and you can take that to mean whatever you like, whatever you want to create.
Make time for you. Offer yourself the support of the floor. Build shelves inside. That is what I sometimes do, and then, I arrange the knick-knacks that matter to me, and sometimes I just let the wind blow reverently through, and poof all is gone. Sometimes I am a Tibetan sand painting, carefully built and then given back to wind and song.