When it lifts.
When the pressure releases, the fog drifts away, the weight shifts, lean in.
When you feel peace speaking, whispering about the edges of your awareness, nibbling at the tight corners of the boxes enclosing you, lean in.
When something sparks, catches your imagination, dances in front of you with childish glee, lean in.
Lean in so far that you might fall. Fall from the cliff’s edge you were told you must balance on.
The high, windy, perilous edge of perfection.
For that place is not yours.
Instead- softness, gentleness, ease and curiosity.
A place amongst the spongey pine needles of the forest floor or the undulating seed heavy tall grasses of a summer meadow.
That is your home.
The cliff, the pinnacle, it is a place worthy of visiting, of sometimes journeying towards, gathering wisdom and wonders to return with.
But the thin, barren edge- of perfection- is not a home.
Come, settle, to restfulness, to exhalation, to play, to releasing demands.
Your body knows home.
