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I wish all of you could see me as I try to write this post.  Let me do my best to paint a picture for you.

It is Wednesday evening, around 9:21 pm.  I am sitting on my bed in a mess of bedsheets and blankets, typing on my laptop by the light of one side table lamp in an otherwise darkened room.  My two little ones are presumably sleeping upstairs, but I am pretty sure they are reading, flipping pages quietly lest I hear them.  And as many of you know by now, one dog sleeps at my feet, two dogs snore on the floor next to me, the background music to my typing.

Or not typing.  Rather, searching aimlessly online, checking my email repeatedly, glancing at my phone with every bell, scrolling through Facebook, and occasionally getting up for a glass of water.  After a few weeks off from my blog, navigating the holidays and the start of a new year, you might think I was fresh, full of ideas, and raring to go.

Not so much.  I drew a complete blank when thinking about what I should write about, what I should share with you after my creative pause.  There was no particularly meaningful or significant event to discuss, or amazing new concept that I couldn’t wait to discuss.

And I realize, or rather I am reminded, that writing in many ways for me has nothing to do with my subject matter.  Just like therapy or parenting, so much of the meaning lies in the process, rather than the content.  What I missed sharing with you over these last few weeks, was our relationship.  The precious, honored unfolding of what happens when I share my heart, and know you receive my truth.  The connection that occurs when words build a bridge across miles and walls and countries and we arrive here in the same space to be with one another.

The magic of the bond between reader and writer always brings me to a pause, a moment of truth. Words are important because they tell stories, and stories allow us to know one another.  To find a home in each other, or at least a shared inquiry into one another’s experience.  I am reminded that this weekly sitting down with you is as important as anything else I do in the course of my week.  We show up for one another, honest and vulnerable in the act of offering and taking in.

After a few weeks away, I am also reminded that the process of writing these posts brings me into relationship with myself.  A lens that allows my world to shift from blurry to focused.  I slow down to think about what feels worthy of expression, and which white spaces and silences are just as necessary.  I pay more attention to what occurs within me and outside of me as the days and nights pass.  Sometimes I sit down to type and am surprised by what emerges from my subconscious as relevant…an off handed comment from my son, a spontaneous run in the rain, or a particularly powerful moment with a patient.

So I suppose it is okay that no particular topic emerged this week, because my break brought to the surface for me what I once knew, but perhaps forgot.  That writing is about a relationship, between reader and writer, as well as the reader and writer individually with his or herself.  When I am writing and reading, whether my words or other words, I am sinking beneath the surface of life, taking it in with a certain type of attention.  When I am not, I am skimming the surface, accelerated, passing by streaks of light and color, with no real contact.

I look forward to what manifests in my little corner of the blogosphere in 2017.  Thank you for co-creating this space with me, and making it feel like home.  I am so glad you are here.

With gratitude, Monisha

 

Mindful Mondays

  • 41

    As I enter into my 41st year, I felt a sudden desire to return here to my blog and write.  It has been awhile.  I have shared poems and other words on social media, and a few here as well.  But, it has been some time since I have sat down to reflect, write out

  • Hold On

    For you whose light has been dimmed in an already dark world— For you whose voice has been muted in a loud screaming world— For you who feels lost in a world full of mirrors— Breathe. When every warm body is out of reach, you have the power to hold your own heart with a

  • Waking Up

    Holding hands in the dark, the wash of moonlight spilling onto the sheets. A kiss on my cheek and a hug that lingers long enough to feel the solid warmth of skin and bone. The breath of a sunset sky, and the heat of thunder and lightning pouring cleansing waters from above. A singular burgundy