All tempest has, like a navel, a hole in its middle, through which a gull can fly, in silence. – Fourteenth Century Japanese, Anonymous
Living at the Edge of Center
Living at the edge of center where certainty and absolutes and sure feet laugh. Where faith is the embrace of the prayers and creeds I remember from childhood. Where the scent of Balinese incense invokes profound gratitude. Where the soul of everything I have ever loved smiles and celebrates. Where hunger, lack, fear, and regret are secrets I don’t have to share. Where the path looks like a treasure map and the coordinates lay riches bare. Where bruised knees are angel kisses and black eyes are the rainbow’s edge. Where sunshine offers optimism and the air tastes like chocolate. Where birthdays and thank you notes and favorite recipes are remembered. Where yesterdays sprint, tomorrows dance, and children grow. Where the present is filled with meaning and the future is a joy crescendo.
From the center of a storm, the quiet reminds us that the storm will pass. Before a storm we are not wise and can not see. Before a storm we gossip, judge, and destroy. Before a storm hope is wispy, wishy, and meringue. Before a storm we forget to forgive. Before a storm we live small, afraid of our shadows. Before a storm we have all the answers. Before a storm certainty is easy.
We all live at the edge of center. Moving between storms. Learning to understand storms. Figuring it out. Brushing off our jeans. Grieving. Breathing. Creating. Finishing what matters. Letting go of rocks and venom and poison. Raising prayers and mantras. Using our rituals to find our way. Practicing kindness with urgency. Carrying our gentle stories and wounds toward healing and peace. Storms pass. Storms pass. Storms pass.