rooted grace

Summer is my absolute favourite season of all. Warmth, creativity, love, nature close to my every sense.

I wait all year for this time.

Here is when everything appears on show for my delight - flowers, blossom, fledglings, fruits.

Lengthy evenings, little sleep, endless birdsong, expanded heart, and display. Here is when rest and letting go can seem beyond grasp.

All these moments. I don’t want to miss any of them.

Despite appearances, much rest and stillness created this exhibition. Trees and plants lay dormant for months, awaiting the right serving of light and water. Too much or too little and one develops ´blind’ without bloom; as if they lost sight of all they could or would become.

Beneath the effortless grace of movement lies such surrender. To soften and lean into stillness and inaction allows one to discover the skills to move fluidly, even over tricky, sharp and dangerous terrain.

In pausing and delighting in nothing-ness, we discover who we are beneath the words and characters we’ve adopted or being given.

To slow during summer means to drink in extra light, pause in stripped back nature, and to be without direction.

Space provides time for the inner voice to be mused, allowing for answers to appear. So we can move with grace both on - and beyond - the islands of our mat.

For some, there’s much effort in moments of pause. It can be difficult to quieten the inner voice, or settle into inaction over action. But such moments are vital for rebalancing our nervous system, our perspective, and for general wellbeing.

There are moments when time stands still or slinks slow. The ones that involve little activity. Gazing at sky, floating in sea, resting in yoga. They say 20 minutes savasana is equivalent to 2 hours sleep.

Letting go is letting in.

The hedonism of summer carries us into the fast lane. To be rooted in grace means to remember our bones, our rootedness, softness and stillness that bought us here.

Pausing. Listening to nature. Recognising the root of senses. Drinking tea with both hands to cup, watching sunrise - this is enough.

Listening.

To this moment. And to each beyond.