steadfast

I took note of a “Breath Prayer” by Cole Arthur Riley. She describes a breath prayer as: an ancient practice that connects short, memorable phrases with deep breathing. [Note: I’d highly recommend Cole’s book, now out in paperback, titled “This Here Flesh.” It’s transformative.]

INHALE: I am not who I was.
EXHALE: I will honor my becoming.

I am not who I was.

I do not reject my past. At best, I hope to honor who I was, remember what it took to survive, to remain in a world where I’d lost what I thought was the anchor of my being. And to learn from it. Recognize that who I became in order to survive was brave and determined to forge my own path. I learned to stay. Maybe not always gracefully. There’s a reason I was labeled as a “rebel” by some of my teachers, why I was blackballed from Honor Society. I did not suffer fools gladly. Nor did I tolerate anything or anyone that tried to diminish me. Today, I understand the price I paid for my rebellion. But really, I admire the spirit of that girl. So, no, I don’t reject who I was. I simply understand that in my survival, I devised a strategy that in the long run disrupted my ability to forge the connection I so deeply desired. Love me, I dare you!! Defiance works on one level as protection but not in the soft underbelly of love. And so I found myself “safe” but often alone.

I will honor my becoming.

Finding a home in myself has been a process of becoming vulnerable, of risking ultimate exposure to what I most fear, of trusting I am no longer that young girl who had no choice but to “armor up” in the face of dragons. Finding a home in my own body has been — and still is — difficult. In reality, it’s as easy as stopping to breathe and to notice. Not.Hard. Five minutes max, most of the time.

However, this body is so programmed to work hard, to find the “should” in every moment … I should be good, I should look good, I should do better.

Even more difficult has been discerning how to care for this being I am in the process of becoming. To do the regular things of daily life, like making my bed, sweeping the floor, washing the dishes. Finding and keeping a home for myself because I care about the person who lives here has been a life-long struggle. Now, after months of work (and a fair chunk of my savings), everything has a place where it belongs. Taking the time to “tidy up” and keep things in their place is still an unfolding process. Clearing out the clutter — really, the detritus of an unlived life — was the beginning. Taking the time to be with myself, to love the-one-I-am-becoming enough to sweep up the leavings of life — that’s an everyday practice.

It takes a willingness to stop and notice, without judgement, what is happening in this moment. To notice what is happening in my body. To breathe as I notice. To honor what is.

Can I be steadfast,
unwavering, resolute
in this care-of-self?

May it be so.