on having arrived

hurdles race by Retrographique on etsy

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

It's a familiar refrain, and not just in the back seats of family vehicles. So, what if, instead of focusing on the destination, we might already be there? What if we have already arrived? That there might be no striving, no "coming toward," no "if only?" 

What if we were each okay, just the way we are today? No dieting, no shopping, no "If I had that new outfit/ car/ technology," and had the right friends/ lover/ family?

It's a frame of mind: to have arrived.

It's not as if any of those things can actually change who we are. They are moments of delaying our real work. And our real work is to become pleased (or at least somewhat contented) with who we actually are. 

“So quick bright things come to confusion”

— Lysander, Act 1, Scene 1, A Midsummer Night's Dream

We are the bright things, in all of our shininess. And it's our doubt that confuses that, so quickly. It's easy to hear the words—that we are perfect in all we are, and came into the world this way—yet we spend lifetimes trying to get to a place of that knowing. What makes it so strange and far-reaching? What makes this bright thing so tangled in confusion? 

I'd like to sit in the knowing, in the distinct possibility that we have already arrived.

as much as a pen knows

woman in water by Eclecticforest on etsy

Rumi found me for good in the fall of 2006. I was at a Buddhist meditation retreat: silent, except for the teachings. And the teachings often included Rumi poetry backed up by a hand drum. 

So, when I'm feeling off-kilter, Rumi becomes a beacon. Today, it's this.

As Much as a Pen Knows

Do you think that I know what I'm doing?
That for one breath or half-breath I belong to myself?

As much as a pen knows what it's writing,
or the ball can guess where it's going next.