Allow yourself to arrive,
Not just your body,
But the parts of you still replaying,
Still rehearsing,
And resisting.
Let the spine soften,
Let the jaw unclench,
And let the breath enter quietly and freely.
Notice the sounds,
The texture of stillness.
Feel the weight of your body,
The way the ground supports you without effort.
Only care.
You are here,
Now.
And now is the only place where anything ever begins.
And let me share a story with you.
Two monks walked along a path of no indulgence,
No touch,
And no attachment.
And then they see her.
A woman standing at the edge of a river.
The older monk steps forward.
And without hesitation,
He lifts her,
And carries her across,
And sets her down.
They move on,
And the hours pass,
And the silence stretches on,
Until the younger monk speaks and says,
We took vows.
We're not supposed to touch women.
Why did you do that?
The older monk grins and says,
I put her down hours ago.
Why are you still carrying her?
Now pause and let that land.
This is a story about rules,
Righteousness,
And judgment.
But more importantly,
This is a mirror of us all.
Of the roles that rotate within us.
There is an internal voice within that can be obsessed with right and wrong.
The one who wants certainty.
The one whose world is made up of manuals.
Because if there is a rule,
Then there is safety.
But life doesn't always ask for permission.
So when we become fixated in this voice,
We suffer as reality doesn't stay in the lines.
And then there's another voice that chooses compassion over protocol.
That knows that a decision can be a tradeoff,
Which may increase misunderstanding,
Even though what's done feels deeply right.
So yes,
There is suffering as well.
And then there's a vulnerable voice within us.
The one that needs or needed help.
But due to shame,
We silently suffer.
As to be seen by others might be considered a weakness or a burden.
Like the moon behind the passing clouds,
The woman,
The older monk,
And the younger monk rotate and move through us.
They arise and fade,
Just as the clouds drift across the night sky.
But none of them is the sky itself.
The mistake,
The cause of suffering is not that they appear,
But that we mistake one passing rule for the whole of who we are.
We forget.
The moon is still there,
Unchanged,
Untouched,
Even when hidden.
So to your deeper self,
Vast,
Aware,
Compassionate,
Remains whole.
Even when a single part dominates your thoughts,
Your breath,
Your body.
When we identify with just one,
The helper,
The critic,
The vulnerable one,
We lose sight of the whole sky we belong to.
But the moment that we remember,
The clouds part,
And the moon reappears.
So too are the parts of us that feel deeply,
That act wisely,
Or that hold tightly.
Just as the clouds do not define the sky,
The voices within you do not define your being.
So ask yourself now,
Gently,
What am I carrying?
And does it carry me?
Are you holding a weight that no longer lifts you?
Are you gripping,
Although it's already dissolved?
Then soften your breath.
Loosen your hold.
And say gently to yourself,
With the authority of self-compassion,
I carry only what carries me.
Again,
I carry only what carries me.
What does this mean to you?
To let go of what drags,
And stay with what lives?
And as I leave you to whisper this to yourself as a reminder to remember the old monk who let go,
The young monk who held on,
And the woman who reached but couldn't get there.
All live within us.
All live within you.
And none of them is wrong.
And none of them is whole.
We suffer not because those voices speak,
But because we forget.
We can choose when to listen,
And when to release.
So let the story soften.
The clouds drift.
And the moon reappear.
Rest now.
Just you.
And the gentle truth,
The gentle whisper.
I carry only what carries me.
And now feel your way back.
Not with thought,
But with touch.
Of your breath.
Of your pulse.
Of the quiet fact that you're still here.
Let your breath find your spine.
Your ribs.
Your face.
Let the room reappear,
But let it meet a lighter you.
Because,
My friend,
You are the one who carries.
You are the one who questions.
You are the one who needs help.
But you are also the one who can stop now.
The story doesn't need your spine anymore.
You are not the weight.
You are the one who knows what to sit down.
And maybe,
Just maybe,
The only thing happier than carrying is forgetting that you don't have to.
May your mind,
Your body,
And your spirit be abundant with peace.
And may you always remember only what carries you.
Until we meet again.
Namaste.
