A Quiet Practice of Living

Today I feel deeply contemplative.

I find myself thinking about the monks on their peace walk.
About the stark contrasts of weather across the nation and the globe.
About how we carry on when the stability of the world feels unrooted.

And all I really know how to do is come back to my breath.

To my presence.
To begin again from home — from inside myself — and from my own capacity to cultivate peace in my life, in whatever small ways I can.

Attending to the ordinary things helps right now.
Chores.
My garden.
My home.
My family.

These simple acts ground me. They remind me that connection still exists . . . even when words are hard to find.

Because today, words are hard to find.

My heart feels broken.
Tears stream down my face.
The ache I feel is unexplainable, but very real.

And still, somewhere underneath it all, there is hope.
Hope for a shift.
Hope for a gentler turning.
Hope for humanity remembering itself.

What I can bring forth today is not certainty — but courage.
The courage to keep going.

Creativity in how I meet problems, roadblocks, and setbacks.
A quiet willingness to light the path where I can.

So today, I will dance.
Not because I am celebrating . . . but because I am alive, and moving through life.

I will cook nourishing food to support my body and mind.
I will rest and listen for the quiet whisper of my soul.
I will create — helping my son with his school project, and gathering with friends to paint together.

Today, I choose to live — simply because I am alive.

And for now, that is enough.