A Conversation With Being
I really enjoy solitude. Not as a retreat from life, but as a return to myself.
I enjoy being with my thoughts, noticing the kinds of thoughts that arrive, and sensing the vibrational frequencies they carry. I can feel where I am operating from, or receiving from, without needing to analyze it. There is something deeply fascinating about that awareness. And there is a quiet happiness that comes with it.
Because of this, I often make it my intention to remove myself from noise. And when I cannot remove myself physically, I find my center anyway. In chaotic environments, I release the need for anything external to validate a good feeling. I stop looking outward for an experience to witness joy, and instead allow the feeling to arise from within me. This has taught me that my center is always accessible.
I look forward to moments when I can spend time with myself. Moments where I am learning myself rather than improving myself. Moments where connection is vibrational rather than verbal. It is an amazing place to be, inside yourself.
Being outside deepens this experience for me. Especially on days when the temperature feels just right. Not overbearingly hot, not piercingly cold. It feels like the beginning of fall, with a gentle coolness in the air, even though it is technically winter in Pensacola.
I am sitting outside as I write this. I can feel the sun on my skin, gentle but present. I love daylight. I love what it awakens in me.
In front of me are trees dressed in yellow, brown, and amber, with hints of red woven through softer creams and greens. Palm trees stand among them, grounding the scene in contrast. It feels layered and alive.
There are birds gathered in one of the trees. A whole flock, taking up space together. They are singing. I do not know exactly what they are communicating to one another, but I know that they are. Their sound reaches me, and I receive it.
I love the idea that I am being influenced by their being in my experience. Energetically, vibrationally. Not because I am trying to interpret them, but because I am allowing myself to be affected by their presence.
As I watch them, I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Gratitude that they are here. Gratitude that they are so beautiful. Gratitude that they are untouchable by my human hands, free in their expression, and generous in their existence. I feel joy simply witnessing them.
Every so often, they rise together and fly over me. As they move through the sky, they create patterns, images, and fleeting tapestries that exist only for that moment. I find myself making wishes as they pass. Sending them outward, into the birds, into the universe, without attachment.
There is a knowing in me that this experience was given to me. That witnessing them is already part of the gift. And in that knowing, I feel a quiet trust that whatever I wish for, with awareness and sincerity, is already on its way.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Not only for seeing this with my eyes, but for being part of an energetic exchange I do not need to fully understand. Whether consciously or unconsciously, I am in communion with what is around me.
Inside myself, I begin to pray. Not in words, but in feeling. Please let this continue. Please let the sky stay light a little longer. Let me keep admiring this vibrancy of aliveness before darkness returns.
There is something exhilarating about this awareness. Something sacred in noticing how alive everything is, and how briefly it appears in this exact form. It makes me think about the universe, about timing, about grace, about how little is required to feel deeply fulfilled.
Perhaps you have known a moment like this too. A pause where nothing needed to be fixed or understood. Where you did not need to arrive anywhere else to feel complete.
If so, maybe this is simply a reminder. That this place still exists. That you can return to it. That it has been within you longer than you remember.
In moments like this, I remember that joy does not need to be loud. Connection does not need to be complicated. And meaning does not need to be imposed.
Sometimes, it simply arrives. And we are here to witness it.
#MindfulPresence, #Solitude, #NatureMeditation
God in My Bloodstream, Like Sunlight on Water
Like sunlight on the water, divinity dances through our lives—unseen, yet ever-present, in every wave of grace, every moment of stillness.
Have you ever felt the divine in the quiet moments of life? That subtle sense of connection, a hum beneath the surface, reminding you that something greater is always present?
Elizabeth Gilbert, one of my favorite authors, writes in Eat Pray Love:
“I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on the water.”
The first time I read that line, something in me stilled. It wasn’t just beautiful—it felt like truth, a truth I had been unknowingly reaching for. A truth that felt like a deep exhale.
The Search for Divine Connection
For much of my life, I believed that connection with the divine was something I had to earn. I thought that if I meditated enough, prayed deeply enough, or read the right spiritual texts, I could somehow break through some invisible barrier and finally feel it. I imagined it would come in a sudden rush—a flash of light or a bolt of clarity, confirming that God, or the divine, was real and alive within me.
But now, I see it differently.
Shifting Perspective: The Effortless Nature of Divinity
Divinity isn’t something to work for. No amount of effort can make the sun shine, nor can I force the water to reflect its light. These things simply are. They don’t strive. And neither does the divine.
When I stopped trying so hard to find it, I began to notice that divinity was already moving through me. It always had been. It had never been something I had to earn.
Finding Divinity in the Small Moments
I feel it sometimes—not in grand, overwhelming moments, but in the quietest of ones. In the warmth of my chest when I hear a song that moves me—the kind that makes the air feel thick with beauty. Or in the deep, unspoken release of a breath shared after laughter with a friend. In the rhythmic pulse of my heartbeat, steady and constant. These small, simple moments are where I feel the divine most.
There’s a presence, a hum beneath the surface, like golden light dancing on water—unforced, ever-present, never needing to be called.
The Key to Connection: Letting Go and Noticing
Maybe that’s the key: letting go and noticing.
What if divine connection isn’t something we need to work so hard to build, but something we soften into, something we allow? It’s there all along, moving and changing, weaving through our lives like the air we breathe.
I often think about the sun and the water. The sun doesn’t struggle to shine; it simply does. The water doesn’t try to reflect; it just does. There is no resistance, no effort. The dance between them is fluid, effortless. And it happens because each is exactly what it is meant to be.
Noticing the Divine
Perhaps this is how we could meet the divine—not by reaching or striving, but by opening. Instead of seeking, what if we simply noticed? Instead of holding on, what if we let go?
For so long, I believed I had to push and fight, search for signs, and seek answers in order to feel close to something greater than myself. But in the quiet of surrender, in those small moments of stillness, I am reminded that divinity is already here. It doesn’t need to be earned or forced. It only needs to be allowed.
Can You Feel It?
Can you feel it? Those moments of grace, however subtle they may seem? The warmth in your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, the golden light that’s always been within you? Maybe we don’t need to search for it. Maybe all we need to do is notice. To breathe. To pause. To feel.
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#DivineConnection, #GraceInEverydayLife, #SpiritualAwakening
Rain, Resonance, and the Ripple Effect of Being
This morning, I woke to the steady sound of rain, its rhythm unyielding. The sky hung heavy, a blanket of gray swallowing all traces of light. I’ve never been a fan of rain. Its presence feels intrusive—a chill in the air, a dampness that clings to the skin. Yet, as the hours passed, I couldn’t stop watching it. Something about its persistence held me captive. And in the stillness, I began to listen.
A Life Awakened by Rain
Surrounded by my plants, I noticed something surprising. Despite the overcast gloom, the rain seemed to energize the life around me. My plants, soaking in the downpour, appeared radiant. Their leaves shimmered, as though they were dancing to the rhythm of each droplet. Even the grass, dulled by the season’s shift, looked greener, more alive.
The rain, though somber, carried a quiet vitality—a life-giving force that defied its outward heaviness. It reminded me that appearances can be deceiving. In that moment, I began to wonder: how often do we, like the rain, unknowingly nourish the world around us?
The Subtle Ripples of Influence
I reflected on the ways my presence ripples outward, even when I’m unaware of it. A friend adopting one of my phrases. My niece mimicking a hand gesture I didn’t realize she noticed. These moments remind me that our legacies often emerge not from grand gestures, but from the quiet, everyday ways we touch others.
Like the rain nourishing the earth, our presence can bring life to the world around us in ways we don’t always see. A kind word. A small act of authenticity. A moment of connection. These are the seeds we plant—seeds that take root in others, often without our awareness.
The Power of Simply Being
In my work as a healer, I witness this truth unfolding all the time. Energy flows not only through deliberate acts, like touch or breathwork, but also through something deeper: our essence.
It’s not about striving for the extraordinary. The greatest impact comes from our willingness to simply be—raw, authentic, and fully present. Just as the rain nourishes indiscriminately, so does our presence enrich the lives we touch, often in quiet, unspoken ways.
A Quiet Responsibility
This realization carries with it a quiet responsibility: to live authentically, to choose kindness, and to bring the best of ourselves into the world. When we do, we leave behind a legacy of growth, harmony, and vitality.
The rain, persistent and unrelenting, reminded me of this truth. It taught me that even the things we resist can carry profound lessons. Like the rain, we are each a force of transformation, capable of leaving the world a little brighter, a little more alive—simply by being who we are.
#Nature, #RippleEffect, #QuietInfluence
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