I'll be honest, I do not know exactly where I am going with this blog post. I just feel like I need to get something out of my head and into the physical realm of writing. Today I had a lovely morning. I drank my lemon water, took my probiotic, ate my oatmeal with extra local berries on top and sipped my green tea from a beautiful ceramic mug. I admired my plants and I listened to my body. I put on Lorde's new acoustic version of Melodrama and rolled out my yoga mat, moving through rounds of sun salutations and pausing where I felt I needed. I continued the songs on repeat and allowed my hips to sway in crescents like the moon. I made curry and packed a lunch of delicious vegetables and hummus with rye bread and cashew spread. And, I did not take a single photo of any of this. I didn't feel any photo could capture the magic and subtle perfection that my morning held so delicately in her hands. The very fact that I still felt this bliss and peace without sharing it now has me puzzled on whether I need to share at all.
I love sharing because it helps people. A few hours of compliments on my writing or photos is not alluring enough for me to lust after. However, the feedback from people saying I helped them or made their day better is like a drug. It is my mission to untether people from what limits their true self. I want to help everyone abandon ideas, patterns, and habits that do not make them happy or serve their true purpose. I feel my writing can do that, it has the potential, but what if nobody listens? What if I am speaking to an empty room? What if I become that tree that falls in the middle of the woods, and nobody hears? Everything I want to say has already been said, and so I often wonder if my voice is necessary at all.
There is a large part of me that wants to move to a tiny village and walk to the market each day for fresh produce and talk to everybody I see in the street, then retreat to my cottage oasis and spend the day inside among breakfast, books, and bread, until I go for a run through the woods and it's just me and my thoughts and my heart beat that quickens and becomes so loud that I cannot hear myself anymore and I'm just there, breathing, with feet pounding on the forest floor. But then, there is this whisper that urges me to keep sharing. She tells me to keep writing. She hums a song that reminds me to speak my truth. While I cannot say what form that will take in the future, I suppose right now I will speak through written word and photos. In the end, it does not matter all that much anyways. I will always be my awareness observing my thoughts, whether I share them or not.