How may I be more consistent?
Fingers on the keyboard, 5 minutes at a time.
Fingers wrapped around a pencil, a loving hug, 5 minutes at a time. Pausing. Not rushing. Not holding out for perfection but leap frogging into the mess and laughing when the mud gets into my hair and even when it goes (slightly) up my nose.
This morning, for example.
The woman at Hometown Buffet, making change, became a sacred moment because I held her in the sacred. The question about pure joy, my response about babies faces, delighting in the return. My choice to see every person as a baby, seen upon return.
“She’s back, she’s here,” really seeing her as she sorted the bills from the coins and prepared to lift her eyes.
She didn’t see mine fill with tears, the recognition that I was seeing her before she knew pain (or rather before she held onto pain as meaning anything wrong. Babies know pain and relief from pain. They know this face that comes back to them -wide-eyed – and smiling – is any face attached to any one, not a specific someone savior but that collective heart… waiting to be reunited.
Seeing the other faces.
The guy online waiting to pay at the grocery store who initially scared me though it would be so politically incorrect to admit it aloud. I saw him and felt “ugh oh no” in my chest and then remembered he, too, as a baby, was a doughy faces, smiling toothless wonder, so happy to be looked at and smiled into and picked up and chuckled with not for doing anything momentous except for breathing – except for returning the detached smile, the smile for smiles sake the joyful energy that says “YES! You are alive and I see you being alive and what a precious gift your little aliveness is.”
My five minutes of writing is over. Applause from the on-line timer.
The guitar, playing “sleep in heavenly peace” and that becomes my prayer for the woman-baby sorting my change or the man who frightened me until I allowed him to morph back into who he always is – nothing scary, just a face attached to a person – waiting to be seen and appreciated and valued just because. Just because.
(My writing play while I sat with my breakfast, asking myself and moodling around the question "What are 100 ways to kneel and kiss the ground?" inspired by... Rumi, naturally.)
Julie Jordan Scott inspires people to experience artistic rebirth via her programs, playshops, books, performances and simply being herself out in the world. She is a writer, creative life coach, speaker, performance poet, Mommy-extraordinaire and mixed-media artist whose Writing Camps and Writing Playgrounds permanently transform people's creative lives. Watch for the announcement of new programs coming in soon! To contact Julie to schedule a Writing or Creative Life Coaching Session, call or text her at 661.444.2735.
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