I’m evaluating my relationship to coffee.
It’s always been a bit love-hate—but recently I’m less interested in the drama and more curious as to the patterns—why I sometimes enjoy a cup and have a wonderful time, and others I walk away feeling cheated of my potential.
I have arrived at the conclusion that I drink coffee when I want to be moved, stimulated to act—when, for instance, I need to get my butt in gear and get some good ol’ work done (the pressures on and there are diamonds to be created!)
But I sometimes also opt for the caffeinated goodness when I want to be moved from within, inspired.
Coffee does an excellent job moving me outwardly. But when it comes to inward motion—you know, soul-full reflection—not so much.
I never drink a coffee and sit down, centered, where I am—No, instead I’m buzzing in a million directions—ready to go go go—accomplishing things I had never intended on accomplishing.
Thus, those evenings and times that I dedicate solely to my own creative work tend to leave me disappointed when I choose to spend them in a coffee house.
What could be unleashed in a centered sense of quiet is instead pulled in a thousand directions—stimulus overload.
There’s a cheap satisfaction in fulfilling my mind’s desire to move out. It’s not a huge fan of turning in. It would rather be on to the next thing and the next and the next..
on the contrary, it takes a steady—and more subtle—will to sit, to be without running from the moment and to trust in and access what awaits.
It’s strikingly obvious to me now why my most treasured expressions have arisen out of the silence of my home. I love it here, in the little sacred nook I’ve carved out for myself.
It’s here that I am willing to truly pause and access my own wisdom and inner jewels.
What we stop doing is as transformative as what we start—maybe more so.
I love the feeling that comes from recognizing something that has been unconscious and bringing into light.
Ah, sweet freedom.