“There is a voice that doesn't use words. Listen.” - Rumi
The early morning hours are my favorite time of the time. When the night is still dark, but you can feel the edges of the sunrise just beyond the moon. A state where sleeping and waking are intertwined, no longer clearly defined.
It is a type of stillness that is not an obligation. It is an invitation.
It's a time when the air is still and the house is quiet, when the only illumination might be the flame of flickering candle wick.
It's the hour, or two, when the soul speaks freely, before it retreats from the noise of the day. It's my favorite time to write because there is often “no thought.” Words being woven into an effable tapestry, a mysterious source of intelligence realized on the page. It's a time when I surrender to the practice, when I can more easily get out of my own way.
In the light-filled hours, we are besieged by other peoples thoughts and ideas. We are inundated with emails and social media, enticing us to bow down to the opinions and expectations of others. It's easy to get swallowed up by the distractions and demands of the day. It becomes difficult to distinguish what is truly our own from what we have simply been fed from outside sources. For some, it feels overwhelming. For others, it is like a drug that can never satisfy the empty cravings of this addictive hunger. Somewhere in between those states of being lives a place where stillness can coexist.
And yet, why do we fear, avoid or ignore stillness?
Stillness is not a commodity. It is something we must cultivate and practice. Stillness can be uncomfortable because it revels the truth.
It questions why we continue to pile more on our already too full plates.
It asks us to reconcile the dissonance between our head and our heart, wondering why we continue to rely on merely a machine when we can tap into a much more reliable source, our soul, to guide us through our days. Synchronicity is not the abandonment of either one, it is the harmony of the whole.
Contrary to what we might imagine or believe, stillness doesn't expect us to withdraw from the world. It is simply reminding us to return to essence of ourselves. To turn inward and find that quiet center within. It's a safe space where our intuition can more easily be heard, an undemanding place where the shape of our lives can be more clearly seen without the judgement of others, without the harshness of our own.
From that place of groundedness, we can then turn outward. Still soft around the edges, yet stepping in with sound clarity, rooted in the spirit of the Self. When we are intentional about our practice, life feels more like a murmuration. There is a harmony of rhythm. A delightful dance between ourselves and the whole.
This is what stillness offers us. Not an isolated escape from the outside world, but a way to enter, and be within it, without losing ourselves.
X Alisa