Photo by Robert Collins on Unsplash

Moving. Wheeling. Diving and ducking.
Expressing music with my body.
Feeling restrictions in my patient’s bodies.
Flying down a mountain on skis or a mountain bike.
Running for 50 miles.
Perfecting every movement of my forms until they are precise,
and then making them even better.
Breathing into each move.
The joy of using my body to express.
The joy of being in my body.
Fully alive.
Aware of all life around me.
My brothers the hawks.
My sisters the bobcats.
My daughters the hummingbirds.
Outside. Where all things live.

Photo Zae Zu on Unsplash

Time exists differently here by the candle.
Here in the dark I don't feel time.
It doesn't press me to more.
To do....

Time seem to stop here.
To pause enough to let me BE.
Here I have time for whatever whimsical thoughts float past.

I can day-dream...  Night-dream?
Sipping hot coffee.
Staring at the dark outside.

The world drops away.
Only the candle in the dark remains.
Healing me bit by bit.

Photo by You X Ventures on Unsplash

I've been thinking a lot lately about doing my best work.
Setting up the time and space to do it.
Building the infrastructure to support the doing...
But what exactly IS my best work?

I'm not really sure.
The thing that only I can do.
The work I was born to do.
Work I am proud of doing.

These sound like lofty goals.  But how do I know if the projects I am pursuing are really my best work?
A possible way out of the maze is to consider doing the work that resonates with my heart.
Work that can help change someone who bumps into it.
Work that serves others.  Or makes the world better in some way.

I can only know if it is my best work by doing the work to the best of my ability,
Stepping back and saying "here I made this for you"
And seeing what happens next.

Regardless of how it is perceived, it can still be my best work.  My best shot.
Standing out there, unabashed, ready to be scrutinized. 
Valuable because I think it is worth my time.

A year ago tomorrow I said goodbye to my dear sweet Izabella. My companion. She greeted me every time I came home by running to the door. She waited for me to shower. Patiently seated on the toilet seat. One of her favorite things to do was to dip her paws in water dripping from the tub facet or put her head in the drip. She would lick her paws to capture the water.  I called it her "taking a shower." It was the morning routine. My life isn't as bright without her. I still feel her cuddled next to my legs as I sleep or laying on top of my stomach. I had hoped to feel better after a year... and often I do... but I miss her nearly every day.

A friend helped me bury her in my backyard so I can look out and see her. It's comforting to see her grave. I feel she is not really gone then, just with me in a different way. She loved to look outside, which is why I eventually let her go outside for brief walks. So many wild animals made a home in my backyard this year. As if she created a safe place for them there by her presence. Welcoming.  A family of bobcats.  Maybe one of the babies was Izzy reborn?

She taught me about healing. She would come lay on the part of me that was in pain.  How did she know? She loved people and taught me compassion and generosity (in a cat "I don't need you" way). 

What I learned is that life is shorter than you think; it is better to have a friend than not; and Izabella was an unexpected gift, unwanted initially.  I agreed to let her live with me only to save her life.  But she made mine worth living.