Recently, I rested in beautiful space at a sound bath healing. If you are unfamiliar, a sound bath is an array of singing bowls, chimes, gongs and any other instruments that the creator plays in symphony while you rest in a meditative state.

During this experience I was challenged with the inherent chaos of my mind; entirely swept away by rapid thoughts, which developed into anxieties and then anger towards myself. I noticed my inner monologue actually verbalizing aggression towards myself for my inability to just be quiet in my head and be present with this moment.

Does this sound familiar to you?

And amongst all of this self-creative pressure to meditate, my mind slipped away for the briefest moment. A visual (finally!) came through and drifted my mind to my babyhood. I know this because I recognized the space. I laid in my crib as a baby, toes curled into the air, my tiny bean of an existence gazing up, eyes locked on my stuffed, pastel colored hot air balloon above my head. It was dark in the room, seemingly moonlight being the only source of light. The crib bars in my peripheral vision, I watched the stuffy sway and a mobile slowly spin and for that brief moment in time, whether it was a direct memory or my perception, I felt the pure and definite essence of peace.

Sit in this moment in time and draw your memory inward. Every time your eyes open in the morning, what is the first thing you do?

Most of us would say, hit snooze, others might say, get out of bed, brush my teeth, maybe make the bed, and go on with my day.

It really hit me that everyday is lived with such a high expectation and drive to constantly do. While productivity is highlighted in our society, did it ever occur to anyone that the art of not-doing is equally as important?

Every morning, my eyes open and the hidden agenda is revealed and I'm pulled away from moments of my peace in surrender to the hyperactivity needed to be on time.

After waking up from a short evening nap out of pure bodily exhaustion, I opened my eyes and for the first time, I practiced letting my mind rest in sleep, while awake. What I mean is that I noticed the window opening to my minds-chatter and I closed it. I chose to see what it felt like to experience a hummed mind upon waking. And desperately trying to hold onto that peaceful state for as long as I could, before the tidal wave of today came crashing down.

Why is it that we must give ourselves permission to feel peace? That peace is such a momentary feeling, and isn’t always accessible, yet we’re seemingly living so far from it. Otherwise, we’d all be swimmin’ with lavender waves and smiling all the time.

That we need time away from our daily homes and lives, intense breath work and forced trips to nature to fully experience peace. To escape the loudness of our minds and find the expansiveness of our hearts, we feel the need to leave exactly where we are, when really, we just need to practice being quiet with the moment, not just in.

That the reality of desiring to live in our hearts is not always felt enough to overpower the strength of our mind. Even in sacred space, thoughts follow.

I invite you to practice waking up, maybe even five minutes early, and looking out the window, observing the room, whatever it may be with as little inner monologue as possible. Practice giving yourself permission to not immediately think about what you have to do, and not just wake up and do. See how that makes you feel afterwards, having not given your morning peace to anything else but yourself.

Xx,

Ray of Light

Feel Slow. Heal Slow. Love Slow.