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Morning Meditations

Originally published to Tumblr, these meditations are for your morning contemplation.

Settling into the breath, letting the body rest and the mind soften. Noticing the pull towards plans. Fears. Gently, sitting and observing the mind reaching forward. Breathing in and acknowledging the tension of the unknown. Breathing out and offering trust to the unfolding. We make the wish to meet it with presence. Holding this openness for as long as we can. Returning to the breath. Settling into breath, feeling the bliss of presence. Noticing the pull toward distraction, in to the frivolous. Feeling the restlessness, the craving for stimulation. Letting the breath meet urgency. Softening. Breathing. Letting the impulse to perform dissolve. Feeling the richness of just being. Sitting. Breathing. No masks. Resting in the quiet dignity of enough. Settling into breath, feeling the quiet of morning. Noticing the wish to be seen, the ache of approval. Watching the mind reach outward: seeking recognition. Noticing the subtle tension of validation. Letting the breath touch that longing. Softening. Breathing. Letting the impulse to impress dissolve. Sitting with the discomfort of being ordinary. Feeling the courage of showing up without reward. Letting the moment be enough. Sitting. Breathing. Listening to the silence between stars. Inhaling the void. Feeling the body as a stone altar, the breath as fire. The heart is a drum carved from the bones of memory. The silence is power withheld. You are the echo of the scream that birthed the cosmos. Sitting. Breathing. Let the silence roar. Sitting. Breathing. Sitting. Noticing.Listening to the faint drumbeat of the breath.Feeling the weight of the body, the ache of being, the pull of gravity. Breathing out the dust of stars. Calling out the Old Ones:Antlered, ash-faced, crowned in flame. They dance in the marrow of the cosmos. They chant in equations. They burn the veil between breath and void. They are the collapsing star. They are the serpent eating its own name. They are the echo of fire. They are the silence after the scream.Sitting. Noticing.Returning to the breath. Sitting. Breathing. The silence is waiting. The silence is the womb before the scream. Trembling. The Goddess dances with knives. She cuts time into pieces. She screams galaxies into being. The stars blink in her wake. Sitting. Breathing. The Void remembers you. She cradles your name. Morning Meditation | Gratitude. Sitting. Breathing gently. Breathing in light. Breathing out the grumps. Noticing the small stuff: a smile, a sandwich, a snail crossing the path. Offering warmth. Living as though we are a being made of light in socks.Thanking it all... even the snail. Sitting. Breathing. Noticing the stories that loop. Watching the mind rehearse its pain. No edits. Sitting. Breathing. Meeting your mind with honesty. Watching fearlessness grow. Again and again. Sitting. Breathing. Settling into the breath. Touching rawness Noticing the mind spiral: rehearsing grievances, replaying failures. Naming the heaviness without indulgence. Letting the breath meet the story, without feeding it. Resting in the space between reaction and response. Choosing presence over pity. Feeling the strength of staying. Feeling the bliss of morning. Sitting upright in the storm. Returning to the breath. Sitting. Breathing. Waiting. Watching whispers in the dark. The breath before the breath. A silence that waits. Sitting. Breathing. Noticing the ache beneath the calm. Watching the mind claw at its cage. Sitting. Breathing. The gods are not silent. They roar in your bones.

Ram, , Lindisfarne

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