Last week, I closed out my newsletter with a prayer: to be more firmly planted in the waiting. Many of us are in the midst of transitions where there is truly nothing to do but continue to flex our trust muscle and enjoy exactly what is alive right now. This week, my feelings have finally caught up to that knowing.

*celebratory shimmy.*

This morning, like every morning, I woke to sunlight spilling through my open window, carrying birdsong and cool air.

The scent of wet soil and slow sway of oak branch shadows moved through my bedroom like an invitation.

Life pulsed in clear, rhythmic, seamless motion.

The nature of the moment was delicate, almost like a dream, but it landed full-bodied, as if my every cell remembered how to receive it.

While the moment itself passed as quickly as it arrived, the awareness of that pulse remained as I moved from bed to feeding my dog, to the keen hum of the coffee maker.

This morning, the same as every other. All the usual suspects present. The difference was: here I was, also raising my hand in attendance.

The last couple of months have felt a bit like staring through a fogged-up glass pane, squinting to make out the shapes and colors beyond the blur. But instead of straining to see through it, I slowly started paying attention to the fog itself. I realized that if I just stepped back—stopped pressing and breathing all this hot air onto it—the fog would begin to bead and lift on its own.

Presence asks something of us. It asks us to tend the moment that’s in the way of the moment. To look at the static we’ve picked up, the resistance we are carrying, our expired ideas. It asks us, first, to notice the fog.

“The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.”

–Rainer Marie Rilke

As I give more attention to my inner landscape, I can begin to see my outer circumstances differently. The situation itself hasn’t changed, but the way I relate to it is transforming. What once felt blurry and strained is becoming vivid again. Not because it’s new, but because I am finally looking at it rather than past it. The fog isn’t blocking the view. It’s a part of the view. Until it’s not.

If I try to ignore or rush past the haze, it’d be like driving my car on a cold morning without allowing the windows to defrost. That would be silly and likely detrimental. There are so many things that are beyond my control, but this is an area I have agency.

I have the ability to pay attention, to notice the frost on the window, and to create the conditions for it to lift. And as it begins to clear, I can either tense with frustration, wishing it would hurry, or soften into the truth that this part isn’t mine to force.

Gently Downstream,
Kara

P.S. this song 🔁