For more than two hours I have been staring at my computer screen hoping for a glimmer of an insight—an exciting impulse for my first post in 2022. I want it to be something special, but I am encountering nothing but emptiness. I’m staring at the screen, hopeful, because I have a commitment and I know that the energy from my commitment will carry me through. It’s keeping me—with my determination to fulfill my promise—sitting in my chair.
Many thoughts are going through my head. What should be the topic? I have no clue.
I’m making myself as empty as I can, because I definitely do not want to implement an old idea, though it would be easy since I have a lot of those. I don’t want to follow my old way of doing things. I want to be new in my thinking, my behavior, my listening, my consciousness . . . I want to be able to endure emptying my head—I don’t want to fill it right away with my collected margin notes which I always can go back to.
I am aware my words are read by many people, and that the newsletter has integrity, and I want to be in alignment with that.
No thoughts are showing up . . . I need to get up . . . move around . . . maybe I should brew a cup of tea . . . preferably one that will make me calm . . . or perhaps some other exotic mixture like balance and trust . . . can tea deliver that?
I’m searching my kitchen cupboard and finding all kinds of teas, most of them offer suggestions, such as Be friendly to yourself . . . but not one says Resolve your writing block. I choose Women’s Energy with a yoga oracle written on the teabag: Learn to listen to yourself in silence . . . LOL . . . yes . . . it fits . . .
Now back at my empty computer screen I am not one step ahead. I am resisting getting up to search for my magical notebook filled with treasured thoughts, to finally figure out a meaningful topic . . . yet . . . I am waiting, open to receive . . .
Looking out the window I am gifted by a beautiful sunset. A new silence is entering my being . . . everything is dissolving into this silence . . . all sounds are retreating as if into a distant solitude . . . now all that remains is the soundless still waiting to be heard. I am slowly carried on a small breath of air and my ears open to a new sound, a whisper:
Give yourself permission to fail. When you do this, you give, at the same moment, the permission to succeed. The key is the decision-making. Not what you decide, but that you decide.
Well, I will sit a bit longer with these words . . . another cup of tea might help . . .
May your New Year be filled with times for listening to the whispers of your soul.