One of the most beautiful things I started doing in 2023 was to deliberately slow down.
I don’t mean slowing down from work or movement or art/music/magick and other things that give me radiant joy. No, I mean actually moving slower.
Walking along the craggy coastline at an unhurried pace in the morning so I could notice my surroundings—how the light dances off foamy waves, how the hulking freighters dot the watery landscape like floating lanterns in the distance, or how the trees curve outwards as if to catch a glimpse of the ocean beneath them as the first ancient rays of sunlight begin to kiss the edge of the Pacific.
With each step, I learned to take time away from the hurried impulse to know what I believe, as if my beliefs are only valid if I can define them or immediately act upon them. Slowing down is deep soul care. And feeling uncertain is human. And basking in some of that uncertainty was a warm and beautiful revelation.
Theologically speaking, I was once willing to believe in anything that could save me or heal me from the dark alleyways of childhood memory. Whether it was chanting Om Kreem Kalikayai Namaha during Puja or taking part in ritual at Lodge or sitting in church pews, praying to a celestial Father to feel love, hope, connection and communion. But what I came to realize was, I lacked the wonder to consider that, perhaps, I’ve been saved and held and loved and maybe even healed all along.
Funny how the demise of certain theologies and the slowing down of the frantic pace in which we meander through the world makes it easier to trust that there is no lack, and, strangely enough, no rush.
My soul is not hanging precariously on the edge of hell. Or ruin. Or sin. Or destruction. I need not readily available and definable answers for all my spiritual queries, I simply need to trust, to breathe and to slow down. It's all here, with every slow and deliberate step.
I continue to learn a powerful lesson through this practice: That there is time to slow down and behold the beauty of both the outer world and the world I carry within.
There is time to taste, to dwell, to sink toes into salty waters and breathe in aromas and wander up coastlines; to slow down and accept creation’s constant and unfolding welcome. After all, it was there, waiting for me, the whole time.
