love note to myself

by erika

Dear Erika,

I feel your new moon melancholy today and I wanted to let you know that, just like phases of our old heavenly orb, this too shall pass. Maybe it’s the too much. Or maybe it’s the not enough. Maybe it’s the distance from your root chakra to your heart. Or maybe it’s the sound of busy buzzing in your brain.

Whatever it is, I’m dashing off this quick note to remind you of that dancer you beheld in class on Tuesday–the one who knew how to shed her human body and become light so she could connect with her dark. Also, since you might have forgotten on this particular friday that it was only last week that you took class from that wild beast of a unicorn from Batsheva, that her use of that tiny word “the” changed your mind forever about time. “Connect to the plenty of time,” she said. Not –“you have plenty of time” or “there’s plenty of time,” but THE plenty. Oh–your cells screamed–Time has her own enough-ness! She has plenty! And she wants to share it! And she wants to share it with ME! Thank you, Time, Thank you, for opening your ice box and showing me the plenty of it. Nothing to worry about–no one will go hungry here!

And, I know you get lonely in that job of yours, as much as you are filled by it. I know you are surrounded by love and that you are surrounded by expectation and that you are surrounded by generosity and that you are surrounded by things that sometimes feel like the opposite of love. But this job, this seat in this chair, is a teacher for you and it is helping you get clean–about what is yours and what, frankly, is someone else’s. And that most important lesson is teaching you that it is not your responsibility to manage someone else’s response–nor can you, nor should you, try to take it from them. If you are coming from positive intent (a meditation that serves you well–even all these years later when you can’t remember the stories you tell and if the stories are dreams or memories), then the rest is not under your control. So let it go.

I hope you’ll see that the spots on your hands are reminders of your days in the sun–not markers of frailty. You never do get that tattoo that says, “be brave”  on your inner left wrist, because you don’t need it in ink to know that you are.

Please take this moment and look around–no not at that misstep, or that one. Stop my dear friend, and look at what you have and feel the plenty of it. The moon is new but she is on her way to full. And so are you.

Love always,

83 year old Erika