Sophia Bonnie Wodin

Resilience The wild beating heart stands present and at the ready when life calls. Showered in golden light it illumines all.  And yet if we travel the distance there exists an edge. And at that edge, at that exact place where light meets dark, that is the home of excitement. Growth twines through our lives in strength, in mystery.  We finite humans, we never know cannot know, when we open that door to change, what we will find.  But the adventure of stepping forth in wonder begs the tantalizing question we name Beauty. She calls to us once. And again, until tugging at my heart, I jump. And, once more find that I can fly. I posted this at the end of yesterday's blog as a coda to the series about Story.  I post it here again as a Equinox offering to remind us that the edge, the balance point between light and darkness, is the place that we find we can fly. Equinox Blessin...

Why all this talk about ‘story’ anyway?   Actually, ‘changing the story’ is a buzzword these past years. We hear the call for a ‘new story’ from many places; from the Occupy movement to climate change activists, from indigenous peoples standing strong in the face of colonial policies, from our teachers and grassroots leaders everywhere.   We begin to understand that when we change our story, the way we see and interact with the world, everything changes. Changing our story changes the world’s story. Many leaders and teachers have counseled us that the future is created when we make ‘a new story’.   Psychology tells us, change one piece of a system and, of necessity, the whole system changes.   Thanks to grassroots movements we see the cultural story being changed all around us.   Our times might best be described as the era of the old paradigm loosening its hold while the new emerges. The message is inescapable. But, we ask, what can I, personally...

In previous blogs we looked at some ways that ‘story’ can serve us.   But what happens when the story line takes over?   We may go about our lives thinking we are here, only to realize we are not.   Perhaps a memory of long ago has taken hold; or an assumption of what we think someone else wants, or even an expectation that we were taught is more important than our own desires. How do we notice that we are living out our old story?   And once we do notice, how do we reach out for that through line to ground us, to bring us back home?   (See blog post, Stories that Serve Us, Part 2 ) Coming home to myself begins when I notice that life has sped up, that there is no time or space for me to reflect on how I feel or what I want. I might not even be able to find a self I can recognize in the picture.   I might notice an ungrounded, floating sensation in my belly or in my feet.   Our bodies are remarkable gauges of how grounded we are … or aren’...