Image is a desaturated photo of a foggy lane curving to the left. There is a wall on the left, an arch of trees. Bare branches cross in the background.
This afternoon there was no choice but to take a nap… you know that feeling …when it takes the last bit of effort you have to make it to the bed or sofa.
It’s such a delicious sinking in and surrendering to rest. I can almost feel the tiredness sliding off of me, into the mattress. Into the center of the Earth.
There are times, like today, when I’m in that liminal state and feel meditation click in. The more I practice, the more accessible that feeling is. It’s a very physical feeling… ecstatic, even. Sparkly. Effervescent. Expansive- both outward and inward. The form of meditation I practice, Instinctive Meditation®, is permissive and encourages curiosity and exploration, wherever the journey leads.
Today it was following this sensation through my body. Sensual in every regard. I thought what a beautiful feeling, and celebrated each easeful breath. I took on that phrase as a mantra: “What a beautiful feeling.” Over and over as I followed it. My arms, fingers, fingernails, legs, toes. Even the ends of my hair. All filled with the beautiful feeling of prana shakti flowing through me.
And then came: “I am an open channel for Divine energy to flow through me. Radiating out to every being. The rocks. The water. The air. The trees. And cycling back through me. Ever and always. What a beautiful feeling.
Mmm. I can feel it even now, just thinking about it.
Image shows a pastel drawing of an ocean beach. There are waves coming to shore. On the right is a large boulder, with a yellow sun just to the left of the boulder.
Consider all the pain and all the pleasure You have ever experienced As waves on a very deep ocean which you are.
From the depths, witness those waves, Rolling along so bravely, always changing, Beautiful in their self-sustaining power.
Marvel that once, you identified with Only the surface of this ocean. Now embrace waves, depths, undersea mountains, Out to the farthest shore. ~Insight verse 136, “The Radiance Sutras”, Lorin Roche, PhD. ************************************************************ The image I drew in a recent Playing With Creativity and Meditation class that my friend Andrea Abrahamson and I co-teach at the online Radiance Sutras School of Meditation. It was her turn to facilitate, and the theme was travel.
Going into the meditation, we were invited to attune to our senses. I live on a really busy street, and the ebb and flow of traffic began to sound like ocean waves to me. I could see the image I drew so clearly, so out it came. As I worked with the pastels, my fingers blending the colours together also sounded like the ocean to me, so I played with that… moving my hand and much of my body, creating the sound of the ocean. The movement of waves. The tingling of my fingers reminded me a little of the sharp tingling of sand under my bare feet.
It’s my favourite little beach in Pacific Palisades, and is still closed after the January fires. I looked at the satellite map recently, tracing the route down the twists and turns down Sunset Blvd. that I’ve enjoyed driving. So much is gone; I’m not sure when I’ll have the heart to make the drive again. It’s so wonderful to have the memory of it, and now this image, as one of my doorways into meditation.
“Some Trees are Blue” Adele Satori 2025. Image shows a textured painting in vibrant hues of blue, orange, red, green, and yellow.
One recent night my memories woke me up.
“Remember the time you painted the trees blue?”
I surely did! I was about six years old, in first grade. I remember being in school, painting a picture of the most beautiful tree. Not only blue, but with yellow, orange, red, and green.
My teacher, who I remember as mostly kind, looked at the picture and told me trees are brown, or black- not these bright colours.
I was heartbroken, and I knew she was wrong. You see, one of the things my family did growing up was to do things like to to museums. I remember seeing the paintings of Paul Gauguin, and being so excited! Here, in a museum, where people came to look at pictures people made, were paintings of trees and plants the way **I** saw them! Bright colours, and vibrating. Here was a grown-up who also saw the songs of trees, and he painted them to show the world.
I may have tried to tell the teacher that. I can’t quite remember; it was a long time ago. I just remember being sad and confused. Didn’t everyone see the songs of trees? How they sometimes shimmer the way pavement does on a hot summer day?
I think most kids have this ability to see multiple realities– until it’s taught out of us. Those of us who somehow keep the magic become the artists, poets, explorers, inventors, often getting “lost” in our beautiful inner worlds. Some of us are seen as mad (I always wondered about that description.).. I suppose the adult version of having a note pinned on our sweaters.
As I lay there in bed, other childhood memories came. That same year, we had a class where the visiting Phys. Ed. teacher put on music and told us to pretend we were a train. We got into a milk-and-cookie infused samba line and chugga chugga’d to the music.
Except me.
Oh no! In my mind I became a train! CHUGGA CHUGGA!!!! WOOO WOOO!!! WOOO WOOO!!! I pumped my arms, shook my head, and in my imagination saw the “more powerful from a locomotive” from the opening sequence of “The Adventures of Super Man” (Starring Georrrrrrge Reeeeves!!!).
Everything, and everyone stopped.
I got taken out of class, and sent home with a note pinned to my sweater about how I couldn’t control myself. It wouldn’t be the last time! So many kidhood memories of experiencing things like this, and “weren’t real”, but those are stories for another time.
My thoughts turned back to trees. Part of me wanted to jump up then and there and paint, but my logical brain started to wake up…. I only have black canvas board… I don’t know where my palette knives are (because this urge was too primal for brushes)… and wandered through the technical aspects of how adult me would paint those trees.
I ended up later that morning going to sit near trees, and soaking in all their textures and colours. I came home, found my knives, and sat down to paint. I went quickly, and intuitively. Sometimes my eyes were nearly closed. I followed the memories of texture, light, sound, and movement. Not thinking if I was doing it right (I’m not a painter, primarily.. I just have the tools around). Not thinking of how others would perceive it. Not worrying if I was wasting materials (another childhood lesson). Simply enjoying the process of painting a tree in all its hidden colours.
And I’m here to tell you… that experience healed something in me. That’s the beauty of creative practice. Creating to create and explore, without expectation of outcome, or demands for others, opens the way to our inner worlds. You don’t have to show it to anyone else, or even keep it.
My invitation to you now, is to remember something you used to do, or like to do and haven’t made the time to do, but especially something you liked to do as a child. Sing silly songs as you go through your day. Make little cabins for ants out of twigs. Finger paint (paint with water on the sidewalk if you don’t have paint!). Twirl in circles. Lay on the grass and watch the cloud beings chase each other. Use what you have on hand. Play and create for the pure pleasure of it.
I’m going to go smile at the most beautiful blue tree I painted.
Image show closeup of a hand holding a pen on an open journal with blank pages. In the background is a garden path and plants
Not long ago I was invited to reignite my journaling practice as part of a journey to understand myself more deeply. I balked at first, and decided to meditate awhile to figure out why.
My journals are sacred space, and there have been times that has not been honoured, so I know that’s one reason, even though I currently live alone. Although I’m pretty good at allowing a direct mindheart to pen connection, my inner writer and editor sometimes disrupt the flow… backing up.. crossing out… rearranging. And sometimes seeing my thoughts in writing make them somehow more “real” and a whole different adventure of judgement and evaluation begins.
It came to me that meditation is a form of inner journaling- the ultimate sacred space. I’ve cultivated a practice that welcomes and allows all that comes up, without judgement or editing… sounds a lot like pen to paper or hands to keyboard journaling, doesn’t it?
Opening to a feeling in meditation for me is sometimes less distracting than writing. I can explore more deeply all the nuances that it encompasses… mind.. body… and spirit, beyond words. I can explore in multiple directions simultaneously in a way I have yet to discover while writing. I do often have a pen and paper nearby, for the times I have astonishing realizations. They don’t always stick with my in thought, so this has been working for me, as I flow between inner meditation and outer meditation… inner and outer journaling.
Astonishment doesn’t have to be life-changing, by the way.. it can be as beautiful as recalling in detail some small thing I witnessed in a day… like the dance of shadows on a sidewalk. Becoming more attuned to experiencing awe, wonder, and astonishment is enriching my life so much!
Meditation has also enhanced my writing. If I take even a short bit of time to transition between ordinary and writing states of mind, I’m becoming more able to allow the flow, without distraction, and seeing the act of writing or typing as part of the embodiment of that flow. Much as I learned long ago to hit record from the moment I sit down to compose digital music. I can finesse and edit later- the important thing is being open to receiving what the Muse is whispering to my heart.
Image show yellow ginko leaves on a grey cement sidewalk. A single drop of water rests on the center leaf, and a reflection of the sun is visible.
I woke up at 2 AM. Not uncommon, but this was different. I distinctly heard “Enlightenment. Enlightenment.” O dear goodness, brain, please let me go back to sleep. And yet it was persistent.
“Enlightenment. The light in me.” I had an urgency to find pen and paper, turn on a light that pierced the darkness, and write. I feel sometimes it’s important to share the process as a creative person, so here’s what came, only reordered slightly for clarity. ******************************************************************************** Enlightenment. The light in me. Becoming light. Finding peace. Finding innocence. Uniting with my inner child. The inner child as light? Innocence.
Innocence lost. Is it one defining moment, or a series of events?
Reaching for the light in me, like reaching for a glass of water. The thirst is quenched for a time, and then we refresh.
Innocence. The “pure” soul- or maybe better- or orginal soul. Full of wonder and awe. Exploring things deeply with the whole being because everything is fresh, and new. Experimenting. Figuring things out. Kids’ drawing showing aspects of what they see and feel.
Rising to the surface in times of joy- eating an ice cream cone. Looking at the sky. In times of sorrow- calling for Mama when hurt. Saying goodbye when driving away from a burning house (not mine. I saw this on a video). In times of hope- reconnecting with someone…the video I saw of a man taking his 5 year old son to meet his Grandmother for the first time…. there were two little boys standing on those steps.
Do those who live closer with Nature retain more innocence? Do artists?
What does pura vida mean? Pure life. Living in deep appreciation.
Getting the wonder taught out of us. Being taught to conform, rather than discover our full potential, unbound by convention.
“Personal growth” as commodification of the journey back to the soul.
Enlightenment is a process, not an end game. Not a competition. Not a hierarchy. Vibration is simply vibration. The colonization of communing with the soul is rampant.
Feeling like something’s wrong if we don’t know what our life purpose is (what do you want to be when you grow up?), as if it has to be ONE THING FOREVER, when the purpose might Universally be to learn, discover, love (the world around us, people, our selves) while we are in this body.
If we are lucky, we are born into an environment where we are nurtured, protected “just enough”. Not all beings have that privilege.
Has tech “stolen” that from kids? How seeing packs of kids out roaming is so rare any more.
Healing the inner child as reconnecting with that pure soul/original innocence.
The other day I wondered if when we die, we step fully into our happiest moment/memory before the next adventure begins.
Reaching. Obtaining. Enlightenment can’t be possessed. It’s the dance and music of the soul. ********************************************************************************Well. That was quite the adventure! Much to ponder. Seeds for creating. Seeds for being.
craftingthespirit.com 