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Showing Up for Ourselves

I’m sitting at my desk at home a bit uneasy, because for the last few days, I’ve had no idea what I would blog about next. In fact, I’m discovering it right now as I type. This is always the fear: that one day, I will run out of things to say. The only difference between feeling this way currently and having felt this way all of last year is that, last year, I was unwilling to show up to do the work.

Here I am today, seated and typing words on digital paper, allowing whatever comes to mind to flow from my fingertips, regardless of how polished or unpolished, interesting or uninteresting it may be. I’ve been telling myself all day that, if I sat my butt down, something would come out.

Isn’t showing up half the battle?

One of my commitments in 2020 is to continuously get out of my own way. It’s nuts how I am my own worst critic when, most of the time, the rest of the world is waiting with open arms for me to share my gifts. For example, I had several family members praise my last blog post, saying they were touched by it and that, of everything I’ve written, it was their favorite piece. Of course, I’m flattered. Their praise is lovely, and it reassures me, even though I don’t like admitting the latter. While I don’t do it for the flattery, I do love and appreciate it.

Writing is my way of expressing myself, which means that, flattery aside, I will always write. And, while I’m at it, I’d rather my words make a difference with whomever reads them. However, as author Bernadette Jiwa says, “In our eagerness to make an extraordinary impact, we forget it’s in ordinary moments that we leave the world better for our being here.”

In concerning myself with what I’m going to write next, and worrying about running out of things to say, and trying to anticipate what others might think, I lose sight of what actually matters. Not everything I write has to break the Internet (OK, nothing I’ve ever written has broken the Internet, but you get what I mean). My last blog post was a from-the-heart sharing of a sad-weekend-turned-magical-family-trip. It represented an “ordinary moment” of saying goodbye to a loved one and coming together to honor their memory. All I did was recount it and immortalize it from my perspective. Yet, it made a difference, especially for those involved, and I fully grasped what Bernadette meant.

Every smile, every laugh, every look, every hug makes a difference. Whether we see the difference or not is another story altogether, but it’s nice to remind ourselves that our words and actions have ripple effects. They count. They are no less important than our big acts. Showing up for them, showing up for the things and people we love, showing up for our passions, our desires, and our dreams makes a difference. We are vessels and vehicles, and through our unique expressions, we will leave the world better for our being here.

So please, show up. I know it’s not easy, but if I could get past my uneasiness, if I was able to write this blog post (thank you for reading to this point!) know that you, too, will be able to overcome your fear. Even if for a little while. Even if it creeps back up time and time again. I promise, the more we make it a habit to show up, the easier it will get.

Will you do it for you?

Photo by: Unknown / Boston, Massachusetts, USA

Alive, and Well, and Present

I’m in Miami, at my grandparent’s house, lying on an air mattress that I’m sharing with my sister, who, only 5 minutes before, had gotten up to get ready for her flight. We slept in the kitchen because all of the other couches and rooms were taken the night before. I turn my head to the left and catch a glimpse of the sun peeking in through the patio door. I let my eyes focus on each of the decorations hanging on a little strip of wall above the round glass table: ceramic houses crafted and painted by hand, with beautiful detailing. I remember looking up at them as a child and thinking, “I want my house to look like that one day.”

There’s an energy in the space that makes me smile. If the walls could talk, they would tell about the amount of life that has been lived within them. They’d share about the countless parties and get-togethers; the holidays and the birthdays celebrated; the laughs, tears, and loud voices (because Cubans only have one volume). They’d even tell the story of how the house became a family fortress when hurricane Andrew pounded our shores.

As I lay there, I realized that there were parts of my childhood with which I had lost touch. Aspects of it eluded me, becoming more like a faint hint of a past life, something that occurred a long, long time ago. I’ve been able to recall periods of time in bulk, but specific memories have felt more difficult to access.

From 1990 to 1996, we lived in Miami. My sister was born there and, a month and a half later, we moved to Argentina.

The general feeling that has remained with me from that six-year period is that I was happy and surrounded by my mom’s family, but that’s about the extent of it. My fascination with Argentina and with my dad’s side has kept me entertained for many years. Our move to Buenos Aires in 1996 pretty much defined and foreshadowed a key, future era of my life, leaving all else that was lived prior to that time almost out of the picture.

All of that changed last weekend, however, when I flew to Miami to attend my grandmother’s funeral. I’ve been back many times before, but, unfortunately, there’s nothing like losing a loved one to remind us to be fully present and appreciate what we have, while also grounding us in the memories we created with them.

Lying on the air mattress, as I delayed the start of what would be an emotionally tough day (the burial was taking place a few hours later), I once again felt enveloped by the immense love with which I had been surrounded as a child in that home. In addition to feeling my grandmother’s presence, I also felt my grandfather there in a very, very strong way. He passed away when I was 10, and while I’ve missed him every day since, it had been a long time since I could feel him with me.

The night before, we had stayed up looking through old boxes of photographs, from which I could not peel myself away. There were photos of my grandmother in Havana, Cuba in the 1930s and 40s; gorgeous photos of her wedding day with my grandfather, who could not have looked any more handsome; photos of my mom and her siblings as babies, kids, teenagers, and young adults; and photos of us grandchildren, so many of them, because we have always been adored. We even found photos of my great-grandmother as a child; those are now between 96 and 103 years old.

Later that night and the next day, we poured over more photographs and shared the memories that they each inspired. I was once again hugging and running around with the inflatable Easter bunny that was taller than me. My brother and I were swinging on the hammock in the patio with my grandfather, who agreed to let us stick large, colorful gift bows on his forehead. My grandmother was wearing her signature, oversized, slightly ridiculous (but still fashionable) 1980s glasses. My aunt’s latest hairdo made her look like a female David Bowie. And my little cousin was struggling to hold up my chunky baby sister. I heard stories from my mom and her siblings that made me laugh so hard that tears were unavoidable from the sheer joy of it all.

It all started coming back to me. I began to feel reconnected. It was as if the space itself was filled to the brim with these gold nuggets of a past that was very much still alive, well, and present. We were the vehicles that made each memory come alive every time a story poured out of us. It was a magical experience, despite the sad circumstances.

To this day, my grandparent’s house is the only house that has remained a constant throughout my life, and that’s important to me, because I like attaching meaning to physical spaces. Although we reunited with the purpose of saying goodbye to abuela, one of the pillars of our family, I also sense that both my grandfather and her wanted us together to remind us that their love is very much still present and alive within and all around us, and that one way of making it known is through sharing our stories about them.

May we continue to share them, always.

Photo by: Unknown / Mexico

The Purge and A Return to Self

Illustration: Copyright Male Ehul 

I went to bed with a terrible migraine on December 28th and I didn’t fall asleep till around 4 am. I woke up the next day, my birthday, feeling pretty sick. By the time the 31st rolled around, I hadn’t slept for four nights, I had a lot of pain in my neck from a mattress and pillow that were not up to my body’s (picky) standards, and I had an upper respiratory infection. For the first time in my adult life –and maybe even since I was a little kid– I was not awake to welcome in the new year.

The next day, my boyfriend started feeling sick and he woke up late that night shivering uncontrollably and with a very high fever, which had him be delirious for the following 24 hours. We basically didn’t leave the house that week until we no longer had a choice, because we were flying back home.

I could not understand, for the life of me, why our timing had been so bad with getting sick. It was the last week of the year, we were both on vacation and looking forward to doing some sightseeing and spending time with my family. Per usual, I had my end-of-year rituals ready to go and was excited for them, like I always am. However, this year all of my plans were turned completely upside down, and I hated it.

During our first week back home, we both took the time to really be with ourselves. We sought out what our bodies and minds needed. We tended to our spiritual and emotional bodies. And I, especially, set out on a quest to reframe my end-of-year experience, because the stories I was telling myself about it were utterly disempowering.

You see, 2019 was quite the unexpected year for me. My grandfather passed away; he and I were very close. I was laid off from the company for which I worked for nearly all of my twenties. I found another kick-ass job soon after and was also laid off due to an unforeseen financial hurdle four months later. Once again, I found a job rather quickly, for which I’m very grateful. Finally, my boyfriend and I were asked to move out of our previous apartment, and so we embarked on a two-month-long apartment hunt in San Francisco, something I don’t wish on anyone.

We’re very happy with our new place and I’m also really, really happy at my new job. These changes, with the exception of my grandfather’s death, ended up being extremely positive, but while I was going through them, I had to confront and deal with something that I prefer to ignore: my anxiety. It usually gets shoved under the rug, and I do my best to pass it off with an arrogant “Please. I’ve got it all under control.”

Um, nope. No. I. Don’t. That’s a lie.

Here’s an example: I nearly gave myself a panic attack when I decided to decline a job opportunity that one of my former managers helped me get. The thought of saying no to him threw me for a loop. It was wild. I could feel myself starting to hyperventilate as I was crying, while also logically acknowledging that my reaction was completely over-the-top and ridiculous. Yet, there was so much momentum going that I couldn’t stop it, and it took me quite a while to calm down.

This was but one aspect of the anxiety that I had been dragging with me, and trying to ignore, the whole year. There was the financial anxiety of being unemployed, even if it was brief, as well as the anxiety that came with having to find a new place to live and needing to re-create stability from scratch. Oh, and dealing with death, of course, because no matter how much we prepare for it, we’re never ready.

Fast forward to the end of December and of course I got sick. Why wouldn’t I? It makes perfect sense. What I bottle up has to find a way to come out eventually, whether as a constant drip or as a full-blown explosion.

Looking back on the last week of 2019, what I now see is that I was purging what had been trapped and hiding inside my body, mind, and soul. I was finally stable. I was with family. I felt loved and taken care of; therefore, as I began to unwind, my body and mind started shedding the many fight-or-flight layers within which it had been operating, slowly sucking and spitting out the venom. Once I got physically better, I finally felt reconnected with my soul –my inner voice and intuition– and it’s been so, so good ever since.

Going through this stuff sucked, but it allowed for some serious growth and, now that I’m past it, I feel very grounded.

My boyfriend and I sat down to complete 2019 and create 2020. It’s one of my favorite end-of-year activities that I had to post-pone, and I’m happy we made the time for it as soon as we were able. When I consciously choose a new perspective, I see that last year was a miracle. I can even be with my grandfather’s passing, because he is no longer suffering.

For this year, what I’m creating is a Return to Self. My possibility is of being at ease, in alignment, centered, and grounded. Anything that sits outside of this will not have a place in my life.

It’s been a beautiful four weeks thus far. If 2020 comes at me with as many surprises as did 2019, I know I will have to deal with and confront my anxiety again, and I will have to continue practicing letting go of the stories that don’t serve me and, instead, filtering each situation through a new lens. Yet, that’s that work that I’m here to do. As long as I seek my own alignment first, I know the rest will gracefully fall into place.

Full illustration below, copyright Male Ehul . Used with permission.

Falling in Love with What I Have

I’m constantly on the hunt for the new, the exciting, the inspirational. If only I can find that one thing that’ll make a difference, I will feel better, I will feel fulfilled, I will have finally arrived. (Arrived, where? No clue!) This bleeds into every area of my life, and in those moments when I don’t feel satisfied, this is why.

In the last year, I’ve developed a deep interest in sustainability. When I was a kid, there was a period of time during which I’d say I wanted to be an ecologist. Of course, I had no idea what that actually meant. All I knew is that a) I thought recycling was cool, b) I wanted to do it, since I didn’t grow up in places where that was really a thing, and c) I wanted to teach others about it, too.

Cue in the long laundry list of all of the other things I decided I was going to be when I grew up, and I eventually forgot about being an ecologist and my interest in recycling. What lingered was my love of our planet, of nature, and of generally taking care of it, but that was the extent of it.

At some point during the first half of 2019 (I can’t quite remember when), I became absolutely horrified at the amount of waste I was producing on my own, let alone with my partner. I couldn’t believe it – even though it had been under my nose all along, I had never truly seen it. Until I did, and I felt ashamed.

Getting over that shame took me a while. I dove head first, and very deeply, down a rabbit hole that led me to where I am today: living as low-waste as I am able based on my current lifestyle and steadily striving towards “zero” waste ( in quotes because, until we fix the whole system, true zero waste is not possible).

I’ve been learning about why we’re at the point of a crisis and what small actions we can take on a daily basis that, in the long-term, create a ripple effect and a big impact. I’ve had a hard time shutting up about it. I share with strangers that comment on the fact that I bring my own reusable mug to coffee shops, or with those that catch me at the office sifting through others’ trash and moving things into the appropriate recycling or compost bin (guilty). I’ve been so incessant about it, that now even my boyfriend has started correcting other people when they throw things away and all of the presents that my parents received during last Christmas had to do with becoming more sustainable (yes, yes… I can get carried away. I blame it on being passionate).

All of this to say the following:

1) I have a lot of information, knowledge, and lessons that I’ve learned from embarking on this evolving journey that I would like to offer up to the world. Therefore, I’m starting a separate blog dedicated to sustainability. My intention is that it serves as a resource for others and as a way to educate through my own experience.

The blog is under construction, and it will exist in both English and Spanish. I will launch it once it’s ready, and not a moment sooner :)

2) For the first time in a really long time, I’ve truly started falling in love with what I already have. And this goes for every aspect and area of my life, from the tangible to the intangible. I’m not always good at it, but since becoming more sustainable involves a deeper level of awareness of the choices I make each day, it has really helped me hone in on the abundance that overflows all around me. It’s a beautiful thing.

I may still have it hardwired in me that the new, the exciting, the inspirational is what I should be chasing. I’ll continue to work on that, but in the meantime, I’ve begun learning that satisfaction is a choice –a state of mind and a state of being– and that I can fully achieve it and feel it in this moment, right now, with what I have and don’t have, because it is all enough.

I am enough.

 

Photo by: Belén Alemán / La Habana, Cuba

I’ve Been Irresponsible

There is a vitality, a life-force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique and, if you block it, it will never exist through any medium and will be lost… the world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions… it is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

– Martha Graham in a letter to Agnes De Mille

This quote hit me like a slap on the face (thanks, Jess!). I realized that, during the last two years, I’ve been completely irresponsible for my voice, which likes to express itself best through writing. I have a lot to share with the world –I aim to be of service through the written word– and yet I’ve been keeping it hidden, allowing it to go silent under the weight of a myriad excuses and unfounded reasons for why I shouldn’t write:

  • “I’m too tired.”
  • “I don’t want to.”
  • “No one cares.”
  • “I’m too busy.”
  • “I don’t have the time.”
  • “Later.”
  • “I don’t feel inspired.”
  • “My writing is not good enough.”
  • “I’ll get to it once I do X, Y, and Z.”
  • “What if I fail?”

On, and on, and on. Same shit, different words.

Of course, listed out as they are above, it’s easy to notice a pattern and get down to the core issue: fear – fear that comes from insecurities and, mostly, from taking myself way too seriously. Like, way too seriously.

I don’t always feel that what I have to say matters. And, objectively, maybe it does or maybe it doesn’t… but who cares? That’s not the point. The point is that writing is my favorite way of expressing myself and, as such, is part of my Self expressing Itself. It is my life’s expression. As Martha Graham writes in her letter: “It is not [my] business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable, nor how it compares with other expressions… it is [my] business to keep it [mine] clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.”

So that’s what I’m going to do. A new commitment to my Self for this new year and new decade. Beginnings have always excited me; consistency will be my biggest challenge.

I’m here for it – enthusiastically, humbly, passionately, and with as much joy as I can muster.

Photo by: A friend’s wedding photographer / Sacramento, CA

Golden Orange Hues

Golden hues filter in through the window
As night falls slowly and the air becomes crisp.
In the distance, the bridge’s towers gently pierce the tinted sky
And the waves roll in, crashing softly,
Coming and going, coming and going.

A woman sings sweetly
Playing gorgeous melodies with her guitar.
The travelers listen intently, enraptured.
The magic is palpable, created with each song
And destroyed once again with each forthcoming silence.

The guitar allows itself to be strummed generously,
As the darkness outside engulfs everything in its path.
The warm lights inside the cafe are cozy and welcoming,
Offering a safe space to connect, to write, to dream,
To breathe in the beauty of this moment
And of this life.

Mahalo, soul of mine,
For your generous gifts of song, of word, of breathtaking views,
And of pure light.

Photo by: Belén Alemán

Silence

“El silencio no es tiempo perdido”. – El Rito, Soda Stereo

One of my favorite song lyrics, meaning “silence is not time wasted.”

My blog has been dormant for 553 days. During this period, I have, at times, quietly observed and experienced my deepest urges and desires to write. At others, I have complained loudly and endlessly about my silence –which masquerades as “writer’s block”– to anyone within earshot. I’m sure I’ve driven a few of you crazy.

In these 553 days, I’ve consistently received, and also given myself, one main piece of advice: JUST DO IT. (Thank you, Nike.) It’s true: all it takes is to sit my butt down and grab either my computer, or a notebook and a pen, and simply create letters grouped in specific patterns that form words, and eventually sentences, until it becomes what we call writing.

Before I go on, allow me to clarify that I have written sporadically, albeit not publicly. I still have my journal, but even that has gone unloved for 6 months now.

Whenever I’m stuck in an area of life that matters to me, the personal development company I participate with always has me look at what’s missing in that area which, if it were there, would make a real difference, maybe even inspire me. This is in direct opposition to what I learned growing up, which was to look for what’s wrong or what needs to be fixed. Over the years, I’ve become a master at “fixing” things; however, there aren’t very many things that are actually broken, and my writing certainly isn’t one of them.

I love to write. Everyone knows this about me. I even have a tattoo about writing! (Not like that proves anything other than I can tolerate a needle piercing my skin with ink, but still, I think it’s cool). So then, if I love to write and there’s nothing wrong with my writing, what’s the problem? What’s been keeping me quiet?

I’ve been in this inquiry for as long as I’ve been silent. Longer than that, actually, because this isn’t the first time I’ve stopped doing that which I’m most passionate about. And the only answer I’ve come up with is this: I feel fear and I let it stop me. What if what I write sucks? What if my inspiration runs dry? I live a full and busy life; what if I can’t make time for it? Or worse, what if I become so unpracticed with writing that I lose all desire for it?

That last question feels like a dagger through my heart. And while it may seem silly or overly dramatic to some, this is truly what’s been having me feel so afraid all this time.

So, back to what’s missing. After much personal discovery work, I realized I gave up on my commitment to make a difference with others through my writing. That’s what moves me the most, other than my love of creating words on paper. I want to make a difference, and I do make a difference, but at some point in the last 553 days, I got distracted. I lost touch with the part of my Soul that very softly, yet quite insistently, says to me, “Your writing makes a difference. You make a difference. Your writing is worthy. You are worthy. Your writing is enough. You are enough.”

What’s been missing is my self-worth.

And no one can give me my self-worth. It is mine to create in each moment. It is only for me to know, with absolute and unwavering certainty, that I am always enough simply because I say that I am.

That is the power of my Word.

So here I am, back at it again. Stay tuned – there’s much more to come.
And, as always, thank you for reading.

Photo by: Anthony Chiechi / Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

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I Am That We Are

I am that We are powerful and free.
I am that We are compassion, love, and understanding.
I am that We are forgiveness.
I am that We are passionate and driven.
I am that We are a force to be reckoned with.
I am that We are courage, strength, and resilience.
I am that We are open to learn from each other.
I am that We are lending our ears to truly listen.
I am that We are awakening.
I am that We are being called to be a higher version of ourselves.
I am that We are a light for future generations.
I am that We are our planet’s caregivers.
I am that We are all one and in tune with the universe.
I am that We are infinite possibilities.

I am the possibility of the 2016 election being a blessing in disguise.

I am the possibility of taking action, of fanning the flames of the fire that has been ignited in my soul. I know I am not alone in feeling this.

I am the possibility of transformation for our world.

I understand why some voted for this man. I empathize with the suffering they’ve endured and feel compassion for them. I, too, believe radical change is needed, but I do not, cannot, and will not ever support radical change that is rooted in fear, hatred, separation, sexism, racism, misogyny, discrimination, and intolerance.

I apologize for the times when I have been those things in the past. No more.

I am taking a stand for humanity. I am taking a stand for myself and for us all. I am calling us to rise. I am calling us to be the lightworkers and healers that we know ourselves to be.

I will do no harm, but I will take no shit.

All of this is an agreement with my soul.
All of this is my commitment to you.

I am making this public so that you can hold me accountable if ever I stray from my Word. I simply ask that you hold me accountable with compassion and love, and that you extend your hand and lend me your strength so that I may once again rise with you — not against you.

I will do the same for you.

“Know this: The most fierce, courageous, loving, passionate, radiant spirits have just been ignited. The future is bright!”

– Life as Ceremony

Photo by: Found on Google

I Wish You Had Been It

I had hoped you would be everything I wanted, but you weren’t.

That’s OK.

I overlaid my expectations on you to see if they would match up perfectly with who you are. Some things did, but most didn’t. That was on me.

Still, I stayed. Still, I told myself I should be flexible; I should adapt; I should learn a new way of loving.

And I did.
You inadvertently taught me that.

Thank you.

You pushed me to my limit and then asked me to keep going, and I did. I broke some of my own barriers, and while I certainly didn’t do it smoothly all the time, nor did I always get it right, I certainly gave it my all. I certainly tried.

Eventually, I grew tired. Sometimes I need a break from being outside of my comfort zone for too long. I need to pause, and process, and take things in, and understand, and heal, and grow, and move on. Often, I can continue on my journey with the same person, but that’s not how it was this time for me with you.

Pushing myself led me to experience new inner growth, but I also discovered that some types of pushing had the opposite effect: It led me into lies. I lied to myself, thinking that if I could only adapt a bit more, just one more tiny bit, I’d finally get it right.

But, who can truly define what it means to love the “right” way?

Love is not something we will ever get “right.” Love is something that we do, and there are many ways of doing it. My “right” way may not be good for you, and vice versa.

I learned that if it doesn’t feel good, something has to change; otherwise, I run the risk of deluding myself into being miserable the rest of my life. I run the risk of missing the exit and convincing myself that this is how it has to be, that I have to put myself aside to love someone more than myself.

There is a selfish love of self that is harmful to others–that’s not what I’m referring to. I’m referring to the radical self-love that is absolutely necessary to cultivate within us and for us before we are able to give others the love they need and deserve; the type of pure love that radiates from our core and is full of light.

When we lose sight of this radical self-love, like I did, we welcome in our own self-destruction. That’s why I needed us to part ways: I needed to regain my Self, and I couldn’t do it with you. I was blocked. I did all I could; I gave all I could give. My spirit, mind, and body had had enough.

I haven’t stopped loving you; I’ve simply shifted the way in which I do. And from this distance I am able to love you more fully than when I was right beside you. Trust me, it’s better from where I now stand.

Now, my energy has shifted to focus on me again and on my next spirit-growth-spurt. Not the harmful, selfish kind of energy, but the radically loving energy that will help heal and restore my Self… And my memory of Us.

I wish it had worked. I wish you had been it.
But it didn’t. And you weren’t.

And that’s OK.

Photo by: Belén Alemán / Maui, Hawai’i

From My Higher Self, To Me, With Love

You are exactly where you’re meant to be, right here, right now.
Not in the past, not in the future…
Right here, right now, in this moment.
It is only this moment.

Yes, you are a spiritual being in a physical body, you are capable of perceiving non-physically, but in this current reality, in this particular moment of the Eternal Moment, your soul is co-existing and co-creating with your physical form, with your body. You must accept this; it would be delusional not to! The evidence is under your nose… Indeed, your nose is a part of the evidence.

Therefore, be here, right now.

Learn the lessons you came here to learn.
Yes, you actually did choose to be born into a Catholic family.
You chose all of your circumstances, and you are continuously creating your reality.

You created this moment of writing knowing that otherwise your mind would burst; you wisely gave yourself this outlet.

Trust that you are exactly where you’re meant to be and that you’re living exactly what your soul needs in order to experience and remember what it came into being to remember.

Don’t try to jump ahead.

The lesson doesn’t lie over there, in some future moment that you have not yet experienced; the lesson lies here.

Let go.

Let go of the desire to control and to obtain all of the answers to everything by yesterday. That is not the point. The point is to be alive while you live in this body and to use your body as a vessel to evolve your soul.

I know you wish you lived in a future time when a lot of things will be figured out and we will have acquired much more knowledge, but you will, and you have. You feel the barrier in your mind and you get frustrated and antsy and desperate to surpass it because you know that you already have done all of this at some point of the Eternal Moment, but you are not living at that point of the Eternal Moment, you’re living in THIS ONE because YOU CHOSE IT. Trust that you chose it for a reason, and that you chose it well, with purpose!

TRUST YOURSELF!
TRUST THE WISDOM OF YOUR SOUL!
It belongs to God.
It knows what it’s doing.
It is a part of God.
Ultimately, it IS God.

Stop looking elsewhere for truth; you need only look within.
You already have all the answers; you need only remember them.
Trust that you are on the right path.
Please, please trust this.

Please.

You are beautiful.
You are exquisite.
You are God’s glory.
You are Love.

Live it, breathe it, feel it, BE IT.
You already are it.

Even if no one else believes you, even if no one else believes it, trust and follow your own path. You can trust yourself to know the way. You can. You need only believe.

Seek within and you shall find, you shall rediscover, you shall re-member, you shall once again become one with God.

Trust your soul.

Photo by: Gautam Sodera / At the summit of Haleakala, Maui, Hawai’i