Waiting for new arrivals
notes for/from the bardo
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A song I’m loving:
With September’s arrival, autumn is around the corner. Before then, though, another week of mid-90’s weather awaits. The slow fade of summer is at times agonizing. My body senses the coming shift, the crisp weather and fading light nearing — and wants it, now. Yet it also senses summer lingering, the thick heat suffocating my capacity to get much done creatively, the long nights dragging their feet. This summer has felt plump, illuminating, inspiring — and also exhausting, confusing, overwhelming. Endings and beginnings alike, time spent writing and time spent unable to write a word, lots of togetherness and many depthful experiences alone.
As we inch toward a change in season, it once again feels like I’m lingering in a Between Space, a During, a Not-Quite-Here-But-Not-Yet-There limbo. It seems I live in this place often, this bardo. Known and unknown shifts are coming; before they do, more lingering in the Not Quite Yet. I am asking myself what I need to remember as I traverse it all so I can do so with presence and care, albeit imperfectly. I’m trying to fully be here, even when I find myself longing for there.
I can only seem to write in short, tiny blips at the moment — small notes, offerings, reflections. Here are some reminders I’ve been writing down, pondering, and turning toward during this stickiness, this between, this waiting for the next seasons’s arrival in more ways than one:
1 — Let me fade into irrelevance on the internet if it means gaining more capacity to fully be with what is right in front of me. Let me continue finding the willingness to log off. It’s okay to log off.
2 — Your brain quickly scurries toward what you might lose in the midst of change, what you might have to give up; don’t forget to make space for what you might gain, for what you could become, for what unfathomable beauty could unfurl in the wake of newness. There is more than what you fear on the other side of the unknown.
3 — When you think you’ve already let go, let go just a little more.
4 — A note while sitting in front of a blank page for a little too long: Forging forward when something isn’t working doesn’t usually lead to the outcome you want; taking space, a break, a photograph, a breath, a hike, a drive, a walk, a shower, a phone call with a friend, a workout, a tincture, a rest… those might help more than attempting to force it. Force rarely cultivates clarity; space often does.
5 — There is nothing like a child to remind you when you’re taking it all a little too seriously; there is nothing like a child to remember your goofy, funny self.
6 — Not every season is for thriving. Not every season is for expansion. Not every season is for growth. Not every season is for upward. Not every season is for more.
7 — What would happen if you let mystery take up just as much internal space as needing to know? How is not knowing a necessary part of possibility?
8 — You don’t need to remodel your old kitchen, or retile your old bathroom, or upgrade your entire life. You can find contentment in what isn’t made-over or updated. You can find aliveness in what isn’t trendy, in what remains imperfect.
9 — There is wisdom being rooted within you now that you won’t recognize, feel, or embody for years. There is beauty in letting things take a long time. There is beauty in how much deeper it all gets to root when we stop rushing.
10 — Feeling the deep ache of witnessing the cruelty in this world isn’t lowering your vibration; it’s allowing you to more deeply access your humanity. Your own “vibration” doesn’t exist in a silo; being affected is a sign of your interconnectedness with all of life. Keep letting yourself feel it all. Keep letting it change you.
11 — Life is still happening, even when it feels like a blur. The blur isn’t in the way of life… it is your life. This is life. What might the blur teach you, show you?
12 — Your deepest medicine often coincides with your deepest wounds; the alchemy of this is your gift, your teacher, medicine itself. Tending to your wounds is inherently a way of also tending to your medicine; tending to your medicine is a balm for your wounds.
13 — May the tendrils of your longings be met with widespread arms, a loving gaze, and the willingness to ask “longings, what do you need from me?”
14 — Practice nature’s pace. Her cycles, rhythms, seasons, deaths and rebirths are a mirror to your own when you allow them. They are part of you, too.
15 — Belonging is a remembrance — not something you must earn.
16 — Making centered choices and requests takes more effort and intention than acting from impulse or pattern, yet it also wields more aligned results. Take the time to center before choosing, before requesting, before reacting. Move from center.1
17 — There is great relief in not needing to be the best, or the most original, or the most successful, or the highest on the list. There is great relief in doing it all from the heart and letting that be more than enough. There is great relief in remembering we’re all weaving this web together, that none of our unique contributions and gifts need to be everything, that our small offerings are plentiful.
18 — Bake a plum cake while they’re ripe.
19 — When your daughter says, “Let’s play Apple by Charlie XCX!”, laugh and dance.
20 — Your dreams, your longings, your heart’s wisest desires… trust they are being held and tended to with hands beyond your own. Trust there is guidance everywhere. Trust you don’t need to figure it all out… trust you can let go and allow the unseen to be part of the path toward what you long for.
And a prayer for September:
Let it be easy where it can be easy.
Say hello to crisp air when it slowly arrives.
Allow love to knit you back together again & again.
The grief that lingers will need your continual nurturance.
Beauty is begging you to fully witness it.
It is safe to let go just a little bit more.
It is okay to fear what’s on the other side of the known.
Your fear doesn’t need to be the whole picture.
Enjoy the tomatoes, the apples, the handfuls of berries.
Risk going for it, trying, doing the things you long for.
Make some tea.
Lean into the change.
Trust the descent.
There is light somewhere when you need it, when you seek it.
Thank you, as always, for being here. Happy September to you and those you love; may it bring something in the form of nourishment, nurturance, love, presence.
△ Why self-love is so hard to achieve
△ The afterlives of Audre Lorde
△ Feminist flourishing framework
△ Always grateful for Bear Hebert’s wisdom
△ The essay On Power and Time by Mary Oliver, in Blue Pastures
△ Finding an old roll of film & the surprise of getting it developed nine years later
With care,
Lisa
Gratitude to my training with The Strozzi Institute, where I learned about the embodied practice of Centering.
Lisa, your reflection on the tension between being present and the lure of the internet resonated deeply. In our hyper-connected world, it's so easy to get swept away by the endless scroll. Your words are a gentle reminder that logging off is not just okay, it's essential for nurturing our connection with the present moment. I love the idea of fading into "irrelevance" online to gain more relevance in our own lives. It's a powerful reminder that our worth isn't measured by likes or shares, but by the depth of our presence in the world.
Love your list of things. So much truth. If we really listen, the universe tells us when to strive for expansion and when to cocoon and turn inward. We are not designed for constant go go go. We just need to remind ourselves this in this ever on world.