“Rest and receive with an open heart.”
These are the words I’m meditating on this year. Pondering their application, I saw a house in my mind’s eye. This cozy house was situated at the end of a very long lane. And at the beginning of the lane was a guarded gate. I tucked the vision into my safe space and moved through my day. Later, in a singing bowl session, the vision came to life.
As the pure tones of the singing bowls wrapped me in vibrations of eternity, I saw the house again. Focusing on it created bodily awareness of peace and comfort. It was warm and inviting. The next moment, I had a physical sensation of dropping into my body, solidly into my solar plexus. “I’m home!” was the joyful, overwhelming thought that followed.
I’ve been working to live an embodied life for the last few years after decades of disconnection. At times I will ask myself, with my hand on my heart, “Am I here right now? I don’t want to miss this.” Body work has helped me clear out energies that kept me feeling unsafe in my own skin. I’ve felt more and more connected to my physical being the longer I experience bodywork and present awareness. I’ve had extended perceptions of “home,” but not lasting sensations.
But this dropping in was another level. I. Came. Home. Feeling the blood pulsing through my veins to my fingers and toes, and a settled awareness of my solidity of being, a smile of deep relief moved from my center out.
The gate came to my attention. I could not see down the long lane between it and my house. I was conscious of it being guarded by some kind of unshakable animal energy devoted to my well being. At this moment, I understood how I would be able to keep my heart open as I rested. Anything that makes it to my house has been allowed through the gate. I can trust the guards. A different level of joy and ease of breath came as I felt myself relax. I didn’t have to be on high alert to see who or what was coming anymore.
As I sensed the length of the lane, there were people, opportunities, ideas already moving toward the inviting warmth. I felt content allowing them to take their time. On the heels of that thought, I saw the lane become dark. The trees shifted into ominous fingers catching the clothes of the travelers on the path. Wolves lurking in the shadows. Terrifying. My self jumped to the door of my house to rescue the travelers from the dark, scary lane. I did not want them to lose courage and turn back. But a pause invited me to sit back into the safety of my home and rest and receive with an open heart.
No more rescuing. No more leaving my home to help others make it to my door. No more standing at the gate of the lane flagging people and ideas and opportunities in. No more. And then I knew why. I have taken that journey. I entered through the gate. I have journeyed the lane through sun and shadows and snarls and snags. I am brave. I have stared the wolves in the face and not turned back. I have surrendered my fear and my visions received in the light to put one foot in front of the other in the dark. I made it home. I can allow the travelers to navigate their own path.
I am leaning into the sensations of being home and more integrated than I’ve ever been. And now it’s time to rest. And it’s time to receive whoever and whatever makes it down the lane to become its own integrated being or idea or opportunity that I will be able to engage fully, joyfully, and with an open heart.
As I shared this with a few friends this week, they had synchronicity and resonance in abundance around this vision. I want to share a poem by my dear friend and poet, Julia Baker. Please enjoy her work. And may you become aware of where you are in your own journey home and find courage to keep moving forward, or permission to sink a little deeper into your own beautiful living space. So much love and gratitude for you all tonight.
—— emie ——-
My Home
is built from lavish solitude.
Mostly silent, save gentle wind
murmur through heart-chimes.
Walls come round me
not to keep in or out,
they hold the space.
Wood in soft-blondes, curves
each held beam is lily-white
moon-rings touch
every corner of the circle.
Windows gaze out
at the landscape within.
The only furniture
a loved desk, paper ready
and lavender in a blue jar.
From here I write—
all the words it has taken
me so long come home to.
No need for steady of clock
or calendar square.
I trust turtle eggs left on sand,
hatchlings that emerge
in the fullness of time
following brightest light
to open sea.
This home is mine alone,
built of bone and breath—
where all is complete.
You can join me,
by residing in your own.
–Julia Baker
