“You are the sky. Everything else – it’s just the weather.” – Pema Chodron
Lately, I’ve been thinking about how I cultivate weather inside my body.
“Is it biological? Chemical? Cultural? Hereditary?”
My rainmaking is not intentional. It’s torrential: sloshing around in my stomach, collecting in a moat– aimed to isolate or protect something.
This ‘something’ rests inside of me: a soft shell.
When too much rain fills up my chest, the softness soaks. I feel heavy. It takes every bit of attention and energy not to stay in this state.
I must ask my chest to curl inward with compassion, warming this wetness into steam. If I am lucky, my chest complies and expands. I lean back. Open my mouth. Weather rises and escapes, evaporating into the atmosphere.
The soft something inside is indefinite, yet when the rain is gone, I can see it clearer.
All blue and open.
Revising Loneliness 