Let yourself have this

This phrase of invitation, allowance and permission often comes to me when I first sit for meditation. I tend to fidget, wanting to find the “perfect” seat (reminding myself that “perfect,” is always; perfect is what we create, what we allow to be), something probably related to a pattern in our capitalistic society of wanting to, feeling like we need to, Always. Optimize. Everything. (Anyway!)

“Let yourself have this,” I find myself guiding myself in response. Just let yourself have this time to be in this moment, this meditation. Let yourself have this, whatever is pulling, whatever is presenting. If it is a slower week, if you’re desiring more rest, if you find something seemingly silly and nonsensical to be bringing you joy, or something feels good and makes this easier. (Like, I recently got a fidget toy to help me focus when I’m working!) Let yourself have it! You deserve it, all of it.

So, let yourself have this, too. Slowness, stillness, a burst of energy and excitement, or some other gift of emotion coursing through. Let yourself have minutes to space out and dream, to visit memories, other places in your mind and create other realities and timelines. Let yourself have this, whatever it is.

Let it be light

In the last half-day, I’ve heard the phrase, “It’s not that deep,” in a few moments. Said in a show I was watching, shared in a TikTok that found me, mentioned in a memory to myself. Rather than dismissive, it’s been it a welcome reminder. It’s also had the power to gently dissolve the intensity or heaviness that often accompany something “deep” for me.

I’ve followed it up and filled it in automatically for myself, too, with a reminder I had on repeat about a month ago: Let it be light. Let it be light—”it’s not that deep;” it doesn’t have to be. It’s not that heavy; it doesn’t have to be. It’s not that intense; it doesn’t have to be. Something can be light and easy and still have impact, still have resonance.

Let it be light. Let it it be easy; let it be with you; let it lift off you. Let it leave you, and let it return to you, if it’s meant to. Let it be light. And, in being light, it can also illuminate.

Joy is a practicality

Doing something because you want to, because the act alone of doing it brings joy, happiness, delight is reason enough to do it. Just knowing you want to, without knowing how you’ll feel, that’s also reason enough.

You don’t need a “practical” reason. Joy, being—are practicalities enough.

Let yourself receive

I visited my friend’s apartment this week for the first time, her first place on her own. I had accumulated these little gifts to give her, including an extra pair of shoes I’d been sent, for free, (Soul sisters and sole sisters; we’re the same size), and a Matisse cutout that had hung in my old apartment in Wiliamsburg, where we both lived prior, before she moved West and I realized, in a cold, hard NYC winter, that felt like a really good idea, too, to live in LA. I followed six months later.

When I saw the Matisse print in my closet it automatically felt like hers, and I remembered I hadn’t yet been to her place, so I invited myself over. She received the invite and was happy to have me and offered to cook dinner; it was salmon and Japanese sweet potatoes and salad and perfect, and I brought a bottle of wine to toast with because, while neither of us drink much (California sober. as they say), it felt right and special for that Tuesday night, like a ritual. She asked me about life and listened, and the way she listens feels like such a gift, to be received that way, she is always present and patient, sharing insight and responses in the right way at the right moments.). She shared that she’d received a raise, and she hadn’t even asked for it, and we celebrated that. Close friendship is like that, all of that.

When I was in Puerto Rico in December, I felt like I was grasping to try to understand what I was meant to do. Stay, and take more time off? Leave, as originally scheduled? I had an Akashic Records Reading + Healing with my incredible friend Roya Pourshalchi right before Christmas. I wanted big, clear answers; divine guidance. “It feels like you are meant to receive,” she shared. That was the overarching advice, the archangel message, of the session. Images of receiving at a feast, seated at the end of the table, abundant plates and joyous company.

The next morning, Elida, my aunt’s longtime house help, was there. When I walked into the kitchen she asked if I wanted coffee, and breakfast. Oatmeal? “Oh, it’s OK; I can do it…” and I stopped myself. Let yourself receive. I love the oatmeal and coffee she makes; she cooks the oatmeal slowly with the full cinnamon sticks, simmers the almond milk over the stove and then combines it with to the Puerto Rican coffee bubbled up to ready in the Moka Pot. I said yes, and it was a perfect breakfast. She beamed when I told her how much I liked it. In receiving, we also give. I stayed two more weeks.

My friend offered me tea after dinner, when we were watching Love Island. I paused initially, not wanting to create more work for her, to take more from her. That was silly, of course; she has a generous heart, and I know she was offering because she wanted to. “Oh, you’re going to like the message,” she said when she opened the teabag.

“Let the opportunities come to you,” the tab read.

Let yourself receive. A compliment, without feeling the need to return it right away. A new day for being there, predictably, and, also, differently. An opportunity, whether you take it or not. Giving and receiving, the same flow.

Later, when I pulled my bike out to leave, there was a spider weaving a web, against all odds, across the entryway. “She does this every night,” my friend said. Spinning a web; an existence of being through receiving.

For my LA Lolo: To giving and receiving in friendship, for forever!