Love: Open Space, Open Heart

This week, a meditative reflection
on openness inspired from living life
in a new space.

-Jessica

Sometimes
(okay often)
I find our world is obsessed with perfection
rather than, say, progress.
Change.
Openness.
I find our culture is drunk from the idea
that we must live in a fixed, eternal state of 'being'--
like the ancient Greeks advocated for.

I find that change is where the heart is.
Progress is where life is,
and that True Living happens from following
the Way,
the Truth,
the Life.


Recently, I housesat for a friend
who needed me to care for her garden
and two cats.

The Gent came over one evening for dinner.
We enjoyed cooking our Friday night pasta
--a tradition of ours--
and enjoyed basking in what was left of the sun
warming the lovely open-style kitchen.

I have always loved seeing how others live.
It gets me out of my own space, my reality

and helps to remind me of a truth I have learned before:
there is beauty in the lived life,
not the perfected one,
not the pressure-incentivized one.

Her space was so lovely it felt like I was
living in my favorite pair of worn-out jeans.

Her space also reflected how she lives,
and I was personally grateful that her iphone has not made
a 'big techy' out of her.

She continues to draw and
take delight in creating,
sewing,
writing,
painting,
dancing,
gardening,
and other things.
The space holds it.
I feel it.

Did I mention the breeze is marvelous?

I welcomed the Light of life into the space,
as I do with any space I am in.

 

And I kept desiring to invite others into her space too.
It somehow seemed appropriate.

Perhaps because we once sat around this dinner table
with four others and talked about everything under the sun.

Perhaps because I imagine being transported to Paris,
and it only somehow feels natural to fill the table with conversation,
laughter, delight, and love,
though I have never visited that country before.

Kitchen.png

But this time, it was just me
and this particular evening, it was just us.
He migrated over to the piano,
because it called him,
and I was dancing to the melodies that came out.

I had been called too.

I had my stripes on and it was fitting to move.

My friend and I first met in dance class and
all I ever saw her wear were her stripes.

So, I thought it was marvelous:
a way to honor that delightful friendship
as I housesat.

And while doing so, she was doing her own kind of honoring,
paying a visit to an old friend,
a friend who would soon be passing and
experiencing his own kind of change,
a change from this present reality and into another.