Once in a while you find yourself in a place where space transcends time.  Where minutes lose their grip and space breathes life into your soul.

This summer I was off the grid on a family vacation in Yellowstone.  We started in the town of Big Sky, Montana; a name that sounds redundant.  Aren’t all skies big?... Until you are there.

The expansive sky, prairies, and mountains invite you to feel the grace of space.  Grace . . .  as Webster's defines, the “unmerited divine assistance given to humans for their regeneration.”

Our souls aren’t linear.  They don’t ask for timelines.  They ask for the roundness of space.

It was our first attempt at a big family road trip.  And as predicted, we had a whining backseat with their own requests, “I just want to shop!”, “Geysers give me headaches!”, “When are we going to start having fun?”

Eventually the grace of space seeped in and they opened, softened and blossomed with energy.

Like a small child, our soul can’t put its needs into words. Instead it sometimes shuts down, leaving us with a nondescript heaviness or cries out, leaving us with an aching tightness.

My family experienced the healing that comes from the grace of space.  Now comes the classic post vacation question: How can we continue to create space to tend to our souls in our over-wound, time-based world?

I think it starts with mindfully clearing space in those moments that we do have.  Full attention, single tasking, consciously slowing down, and listening for quiet in the mind or the depth of our breath . . .  our internal space.

If that doesn’t work, take one moment to connect with grace.  Look up at the big sky, feel some grass, smell a flower, listen for a bird, find the roundness of your soul in tonight’s moon.

Last night I stayed up until one a.m. figuring out a problem.  At first, I forced a quick answer and moved on.  But I had been carrying a heavy uncomfortable feeling inside.  I knew I needed to go back and try again.  I needed to take the time to get it right.

When I eventually crawled into bed, feeling lighter . . . aligned, I remembered the advice from one of my most respected guides. 

It was the morning of her fifth birthday party.  The backyard was set up for a day of play and the sky was set up for a day of rain. I said to my daughter, “Oh I hope the rain comes soon so it’s nice for your party.”

Aria replied, “Mommy, don’t rush the sky! How would you feel if all the grass died, if all the leaves on the trees were crunchy, if all the flower petals fell off?"

It can be so hard to let life unfold at its natural pace.  Our current societal race invites us to push through decisions, emotions, moments of not knowing, so we don’t fall further behind. But often life’s unfolding takes sitting with it, circling back, waiting for the clouds to pass.

When we try to “Rush the Sky”, we often ~

~ miss cues
~ misinterpret barriers as something to push harder against
~ live with an incessant circle of mental analysis
~ feel off balance or ungrounded
~ use up our energy faster than we can restore it

There is a sense of stillness in a clear sky, even though we know it’s in constant motion. When life feels clear and sunny, there is greater opportunity to focus on your pace and create space for your inner compass.

When life rains upon you, it’s a bit more unnatural to slow down and be in it. The first reaction is to run for cover.  But, I invite you to try mindfully getting wet.  Know that your roots are growing stronger and that by drinking it in drop by drop, you will blossom.


My Teacher ~  A Lesson in Mindfully Getting Wet: