It takes me a while to land. To settle. To allow the dust to appear more firmly on the ground. Days even. Sometimes month until I feel like I’ve arrived. Until I’m at home inside of my body.
When the mind is racing, moving from thing to thing, task to task, plan to plan, the body, too, is distracted. It doesn’t know what to do or how to move. It’s governed by the mind instead of being its own being. In a way, it’s completely trapped.
How I know I’ve landed is by this: it’s that feeling of being able to see things just a little bit more clearly. I look at a tree and actually see the tree, not just the outline and the shape and the leaves I already know are there, I actually see it this time — In its vibrancy and color. In its life form. It’s energy. It’s essence. It’s being present, instead of checked out. Tuned into life.
Why does it take me days on end to get here? I ask myself.
My everyday life? My job? My friends? My plans?
How can I shorten the jump between where I am now and where I actually am now? Right here in this moment. How can I land more quickly?
Well first, I’m trying to remember how I feel when I’m landed. I feel the ground beneath my feet. I feel a sense of presence in myself, so much so that I can listen and actually believe the sounds and words and frequencies inside myself. Rather than feeling like background noise on a radio, they become little gifts straight from source.
Second, where am I now? Noise. Thoughts. Distractions. Moving. Multitasking. Body in hyper-vigilance.
It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing. What matters is how landed am I? How present am I? How here am I? When I’m landed in this moment, my body releases it’s grip. My jaw unclenches. My eyebrows spread apart. Breath moves effortlessly.
When I’m landed, I don’t have questions, I have answers. I don’t follow, I lead. I don’t ask, I know.
