I have been thinking about what it is like to be willing the unwillable.
The things that, the harder I push, the more they slip away.
Some things cannot be forced.
❖
It is hours before dawn yet I lie awake. Sleep, I say. Sleep. The day rushes at me, I will need to be ready. The clock glows. The pillow warms, and I flip it. Again I say: Sleep.
I know I am trying too hard. Can I stop? This, too, becomes its own type of effort and the yielded heart I so long to have slips away to join my absent sleep.
The more I try, the more it flees.
Many things work this way. Peace. Love. Weather. The garden.
❖
Eventually, sleep comes. What changed? Can I recreate my surrender?
What would it feel like to be able to yield completely to your will, Lord, and thus gain all?
It must feel like exhale. Like an opening fist.
Instead I will the unwillable.
What I cannot will, I must release. The open hand the only vessel.
– from the mountain
Consider:
Where am I willing what cannot be willed?
Reading:
“All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on.” — Havelock Ellis
❖
“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.” — Lao Tzu
❖
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” — Matthew 11:30
Thank you for reading. If this helped you today, consider subscribing or sharing it.