We lay our hearts out to each other on these few days after the midnight shift that marked endings and beginnings, as the newness of things still hangs in the air. We use the shelter of winter to purify our intent while our lives are ripe with possibility. Since ancient times, we have hidden in caves and castles, huddled in huts and houses, living with the rhythm of the seasons, turning inward and tilting away from the light as does the earth at this time, stripping ourselves of excess in order to get to the bare bones where we face our fragility and feel the privilege of being alive. Not just as sole seekers, not just as peerless individuals, each a universe unfolding in time, but as an inspired tribe, a collection of misfits and deviants, learning how we are both complete in ourselves and yet complete each other; how our flaws and faults shape us into perfect puzzle pieces that, together, form a greater whole.
I pray to the heart between us, to the light over us, to the ground beneath us that we learn what we love, love what we have, and live out our lives from what lives deep in our soul. The new moon may remain hidden from us, but it still sets a rhythm to the tides. If we learn from the winter of retreat, from the movement of the seas or by the pull on us from unseen forces, we find that which embeds us in the world and embraces us in life. It only takes a little faith in the greater forces and we restore the ancient in us, we return to our own bare bones, and then, without hesitation, we lay our hearts out to each other because we know this is all we have to give and all we need to receive to be complete and to complete each other.
I wrote “Living With Rhythm” in March 2018 as a Letter To My Future Self, to be read on January 6, 2019. Once I compose a future letter, I put a reminder to read it at the designated time and then do not look at it until the time arrives. A few days before the 6th, I started watching the Netflix series on Tidying Up with Marie Kondo. The “Konmari Method” organizes by category starting with clothes, then books, and so on. You get out all of the clothes, or books, you own and then go through them one by one asking, “Does it spark joy?” When the letter “arrived,” I had already started “stripping myself of excess in order to get to the bare bones,” exactly as described in the letter.
The process really seems to turn lives around and the practice of basing decisions on joy really helps to “learn what we love, love what we have, and live out our lives from what lives deep in our soul,” exactly as described in the letter! My letters to future self often have this uncanny actualization.
To read more Letters To My ‘Future Self, click here or the tag below.
© Nick LeForce
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