Feeling in Between

when every moment is evergreen

no mud, no lotus

Do you ever go through phases where a particular term or word stirs up uncomfortable sensations throughout your body?

I’ve been experiencing a phase where my teeth, jaw, neck, and shoulders tighten, while my stomach seems as if it’s going to fold itself into the shadows of my guts, whenever the words “in between” come up in thought and in conversation.

I do my best to recognize when my body is actin’ up and seeming as if it’s about to form a brand new giant mouth just to let out the single loudest groan I’ve ever groaned.

The more I ignore, the bigger the groan.

So, I listen. The physical reactions are one of the main ways my body can communicate its discomfort with what I experience. It feels terrible when I confuse, dismiss, or punish the verses of unsettling agitation sensed throughout. My body’s only wish is to sing in sweet harmony with my soul from the moments in between moments.

Leo and I are currently navigating the way forward to our next landing point.

We have been living and working in the Hudson Valley for the past few months. Something we’ve been dreaming of for many years. It has been challenging, since we’ve been shuffling our material belongings and tired minds from one temporary location to the next. And through it all, my heart feels many gratitudes, especially knowing how the many hearts within our new community have poured their love into ours to make this life transition waaaaaay less shitty than it could be.

What makes the difference between a pond, a river, a lake, an ocean, a waterfall, an avalanche of snow? Are they not all another form of water transmuted and transformed into different states of being in order to dance with the rhythm of nature?

I practice every day to refuse the thought that there is no sense of belonging when moving in between one chapter of life to the next. Isn’t every moment simply one moment between another?

In that quiet surrender it becomes clear to me, the abundance of soft landings within and around me, as I ride these energetic rhythms. I belong wherever I am, as the present is all that I have.

The moments I have belonged to in the past months involved me digging, pruning, wiping down tables, weeding, greeting hungry (mostly joyful) customers, dragging, lifting, sliding, skewering, chopping, and connecting deeply with other beings.

I’ve been interning as a gardener/landscaper with

Hortus Gardens

where I practically begged my friends, Ally and Scott, to teach me everything they know (and they know SO MUCH). I’ve also been nourishing a lot of love with our dear friends Chris and Eva of Harana Market, working alongside their beautiful team of misfits where I so beautifully find myself misfitting into as well.

My body is the strongest it has ever been, stronger than I ever thought possible. Week after week, I push, condition, and heal my body to adapt to the environments and situations that help strengthen my being’s capabilities.

We also spend a lot of time with the trees, those still rooted in the ground and those we carve into new forms. Leo’s passion and dedication to becoming the woodworker he’s always wanted to be is felt throughout his days carving his new path at Vernacular Design. His mentors have provided so much more than lessons with every kind act we are so grateful to receive.

jeneatslife

A post shared by @jeneatslife

The impact this community has on our souls’ journeys is deeply felt, adding to the flames we continue to nourish within. For every suckiness there is also sweetness. The moments carry a little bit of both, sometimes more of one than the other.

But that’s the thing I’m experiencing about duality: it must be embraced or else the power of the polarities remain stuck in conflict, leading to more confusion, more sadness, more pain, and all because peace can only be found right here, right now, in between.

Be well, be nourished ♥️

Until the next moment, here’s a lil’ poem…

The Butter Knife in Between

there is this space in between

blossoming and becoming

that tastes like the 9 seconds

before a golden brown slice of bread in the pan

whispers the quiet threat of turning black

all because I stopped to watch

memories project onto the screens of my mind

inspiring stories for the scripts of tomorrow

while standing in front of my kitchen drawer

where that one butter knife lives that has lived in every kitchen of mine

where I've let bread burn

mom always said we could just scrape off the parts

that we let get too charred

and spread the butter on anyway

since it’s not good to think on an empty stomach