What you truly seek is rest.
A rest so deep you feel it in your bones.
So deep that your damp and dim soul fire gets enough oxygen and kindling for a warm and bright light to begin to glow.
From that place of rest your path will light up before you as you align with the way of living that you know will nourish your roots, welcoming a vibrant aliveness you've never known.
There is a sacred knowing you possess, deep under the worry and overwhelming noise.
Find this knowing in the company of trees.
Find her in the earth.
Find her in the sacred sisterhood of Mothers, Sisters, Friends, and Elders.
Find her in the quiet of your most rested dreams.
She lives in surrender.
She wants to guide you again.
It is my pleasure to invite you to subscribe to Deepening Roots, a newsletter that I am publishing on Substack.
Together let's clear the noise, deepen our intuition, and live more vibrantly.
Join the Rest Revolution by visioning a new world with me.
I've been waiting for you.
Waiting for you to give me permission to speak.
Waiting for permission to be.
Waiting to be worthy to hold space here.
AM I ENOUGH?
Will I embarrass myself?
Why do you make me feel so small?
Oh how I long to fly, to soar, to be free from the limitations of my mind, my grief, my fear.
If only I could hold my flaws, my imperfections, so close, so dear, like they were what Defined Me - Precious, Worthy, Messy, and Whole.
If only I knew my imperfections were fully welcome here. In this Home I call my Body. In this Place I call my Mind.
If only my soul felt free to be
Like the Wind who would never apologize
for Being, for Flowing, for Destroying and for giving Life.
Dear Perfection, tell me who YOU are, why do you try to cripple Me?
Here I am, this is me. Messy, Raw, Unpracticed and Unpolished and I exist here UNAPOLOGETICALLY.
I exist to be Me, the Ever-Changing, Growing, Knowing part of me.
Perfect in my Imperfections.
Perfectly free to BE.
Worthy and Wanted.
In this moment
I can take up space.
I can make mistakes.
I BELONG here
Perfectly Wild and Free.
Rebecca Blankinship is a mother, parent educator, writer, dreamer, and change-maker. Follow her ambitions at www.rebeccablankinship.com
Last evening, sitting around after dinner, I mentioned to my 5 year old daughter Nunu that we could do something fun for summer solstice, like, write a letter to the sun. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at me, her face full of curiosity and wonder and said, "write to the sun??" I said, "Yes, we can write to the sun about how we love its glow and warmth and think of all the things the sun makes possible that we are thankful for." "Okay," she said, "we can write to the sun."
A little while later she called to me, urging me to come outside, that she was ready. She had two broomsticks, one for me and one for her. She was wearing her cowgirl hat and her rubber boots. "C'mon, let's go." I put the broom between my legs, broom side behind me and she laughed, a shocked kind of laugh and shook her head, "No Mama, this way." As she directed the "horse's" "head" to be in front of me. Okay, I see what we are playing I thought. "Now what?" I said.
"Let's go!" She said. "Let's ride to the sun!"
"Oh, you thought I said "ride" to the sun?" I asked, hoping that my correction of her idea would mean that I could take the broomstick out from between my legs.
"Yeah!!" She exclaimed.
"I meant, write to the sun, like write words." I explained. "Shall we go inside and do that?"
"No, let's ride to the sun! Pleeeease."
I looked at the sun, I looked at my baby, I realized she had a romantic idea and I wanted to go there with her. But I stalled. I tried to negotiate with her as I negotiated with my inner child. I then chose to let the boring adult in me not worry about all of the neighbors in the apartment building probably watching us romp around the parking lot on brooms, and let my inner child live a little.
Of course Nunu wanted nothing but the best from me as we started to gallop around the parking lot. And so I galloped, and I galloped my best gallop.
One day, she won't be asking me to play horse. The magical years of living in and playing out her imagination will be gone. Even if she becomes an actor or artist, she may succumb to societies pressures of only letting her imagination soar at "acceptable" times. And so I reveled in the choice to feel the beauty and magic of childhood, right now, right here with her.