Balancing without Acts

I don’t know how to walk a balance beam and trust that it’s not going to move of its own accord. It seems the most natural thing in the world to me that it should suddenly toss me off, or that a gigantic gap might appear, or an earthquake might force me off. I know what to do when the unexpected happens. When the center of my gravity is shifted without my approval, or when the only ground allowed to me is removed. Uncertainty and disloyalty I can deal with, but security? What is that? How do I take care of myself in such untenable circumstances? How can I possibly cope with a secure balance beam?

Either way, I needed something and I couldn’t grasp it in that moment. Walking on a thinly edged balance beam, arms stretched toward the ends of my vision, seeking some semblance of a straight path. For all the pressing on thin air my palms do, every second or third step comes only after an intense wobbling- an almost catastrophe. And there are no mirrors with which to watch the terror creep up in me. I walk, toe to heel, toe to heel, focused so intently upon my next step that I am utterly ambushed by the sudden cramp, the seemingly unavoidable tension that wracks my ankle, grips my leg, and threatens my body with collapse. It is all I can do to pause mid-step without flailing my arms toward some imagined pole or arm. Anything to keep from the desperation of a fall. Anything.

And the unintuitive reality is that the more I reach for help, after the fear has set, when I’m shaky and threateningly near a meltdown, the more I seek to grip, to squeeze tighter on whatever air is before me, the less secure I am.

I must put my arms out, straight as the wings of a blue jay on the soar. I must step. Only one foot at a time- That is all. Toe to Heel. And again Toe to Heel. And I must learn to breathe. Breathing with each step. Breathing between each step. Breathing to fill my arms with soul. Breathing- that simple action I can repeat without fear- to remind myself that the beam below my feet is solid and beautiful. It goes on and on and my feet are sure upon it. I can learn to let the old expectations pass.

Another Letter to the Universe

I don't even know what to do with these feelings. It's so terrifying to feel loose amid the waves. I really do believe that you've got it all taken care of- that I'll wind up floating about and landing wherever I need most to land, but. But. BUT. It's scary. It's exhilarating. This feeling of possibility. Of attraction. Of excitement.

These feelings come from everywhere. From everything that I'm doing. I feel urged toward vulnerability and movement in everything. in music. in friendship. in thought. in love. I am so excited about the possibilities but I can't let go of the fears.

The residual muck from every past encounter. The disappointment (mine) (others'). I am scared because I know that in the past what I have longed for has not been granted. I am scared that I will not be happy with what I get.

I know that I will be happier than I imagine. I know that things will be more challenging than I plan on. I believe you when you tell me, somewhere deep, to be quiet for a minute and just be here. now.



What else is there?



I need some help with the fears. coping. I don't need them to disappear- somehow a bit of fear seems appropriate and almost invigorating from where I'm sitting. I just need my fears to stand back when it's time to live. Which is all the time. I need your help, dear Universe. I can not do it on my own.


You know.