The journey begins…

Tapping into the underground stream within us all is akin to accessing the inner wisdom that we’ve accumulated throughout a lifetime.  What intrigues me about this wisdom within is that  we resist it.  Instead of following our inner guidance, we too often look outward to the world for answers.  

We have so much power that we do not access, but why?  We can start small.  We can start to listen to our guidance in the rhythms of our daily lives.  Perhaps we might start with a cup of coffee on a Sunday morning, after which we feel the itch to create.  

This impulse to flee from the “shoulds” of the day inspire the habitual, clarion call to productivity.  There’s a stack of papers on the desk that needs filing.  And, there’s a myriad of other work-related, life-related things that “must” be attended to.  Those critical voices brilliantly instruct us to ignore the signs that something within wants to emerge into the light of the day.  

Why do we ignore directives from our bodies, our emotions, our true selves?  Just who are we trying to please, or placate?  What malevolent force within leads us to second guess—or blatantly ignore and refuse to see—that we do have the information that we need, if we would only look within?  

Can we not press pause on the habitual rhythms of our lives for long enough to tap into the wisdom that has been growing and bubbling within ourselves for our whole lives, born of experience after experience, dating back from our birth, perhaps dating back to previous incarnations? 

Attune to the cat.  He is naughty now, trying to nibble on a lovely cactus leaf.  Now it’s time to go drink from the water bowl, after which he might cruise the furniture and find a high up place from which he can look down upon you before curling up into a ball for his mid-afternoon snooze.  Watch him, drawing in each moment upon his own laser clear instincts, regarding you with drowsy eyes, because he trusts you.  But do you trust yourself?

Do you trust yourself enough to send packing the ingrained notion that your offerings to the world are not and will never be enough, because you are not enough?  Shall we continue to buy into the linear, capitalist plan of efficiency that we are told must be our lives, our entire lives—our hearts, and our souls, too?.  

Or, might we keep in mind that all of the small creative impulses that we suppress in the name of efficiency and productivity are missed opportunities to tap into our underground streams, wherein all the good and the bad from our lives, all the light and the dark, has alchemized into a source of love and wisdom that we can access, if we would only summon the courage to acknowledge what we are being called into. 

What might happen when you indulge in even the smallest acts of inspiration? You may be drawn into the kitchen, where you see that there are a few carrots, a few tomatoes, a getting-old zucchini, and mushrooms.  Some forgotten block of cheese catches your eye, which you inevitably grate in along with garlic and olive oil.  And it is during this time of “toil,” when you turn the sideshow veggies inside of your fridge into a satisfying meal, that you attune to your inner guidance.

You remember that you have forgotten to love something that needs to be loved, and so water your house plants, after which you write a hand-written note because something needs to be said in a meaningful way.  Something needs to be acknowledged with your full attention, or mended.  And one letter, crafted with love, will shift the energy of a relationship that requires nourishment and attendance if it is to survive.  The underground wisdom deep within has begun to work a little magic in your life and has started a rhythm going.  Inside, you begin to dance a little.

Going into the closet to find a few oil paints, you sit with a piece of blank paper and look out into the fading light as the sun begins again its disappearing act.  You have given yourself time away from tyrannical obligations, time to move a brush across a canvas, stroke an animal who wants to be touched, play catch with a child, fix a bicycle, or make soup for a sick friend.  There might be some old clay left over in a musty closet that you begin to form it into little balls that eventually morph into a mini-sculpture.  As you become lost in the flow of the fading sunlight of a fall day, you find that you’re dwelling in the territory of your underground stream.  You’re in a receiving mode, attunement mode, and you’re evolving toward a kind of equilibrium and congruence that is the fruit of listening to the whispering, inner voices of love, not criticism.  

This continually, flowing guidance lies just beneath the surface where we cannot see it, and yet it is always there and ready to help us.  We need not rent a home away from home or go on a  retreat to access this inner knowing.  Rather, wade in slowly to the alchemical, healing waters of your underground stream.  

And then, relax.  Your letter is in the mail.