For Once, From Contentment.

I wrote this for my Persian Poetry class as well, but- like my last post from that class- this also touches on one of the biggest themes of this semester: contentment + just being present to the present, even in the face of so much pressure + change. While I give the credit to that class in this essay, really the credit rests with all my friends, the podcasts I heard, my inner work, therapy, and the voices + wisdom that poured into my throughout the semester and before. I’m really thankful to be here, now, as I am. Enjoy :)

My life is on the cusp of a thousand changes. A degree, a career, a move or three. Like Rumi, I too am surrounded by wines calling to be drunk. Advice, sayings, wisdom, potentials, all of it lays around me and before me as I sit in more stability, yet more uncertainty than I have ever known. The words of this semester nourished my being, my core, and I feel human. As Tom Cheetham so valiantly encouraged, I am showing up to life. I am content, and I don't know if I have ever truly been that before. The wisdom of this semester taught me how to be content through comfort with uncertainty and by making a true home within myself, discovering the holy city within myself. 

In this class, we have explored many large questions that are near impossible to know the answer to. However, as we read these many works from mystics of centuries back, I realized many of these questions are meant to be chewed, felt, and embodied rather than simply figured out. It is not so simple, and that is good. I do not need to run to certainty, to sure answers and clear-cut options. I get to not know, and that is a beautiful thing. The real question is how I shall live my life, not how much I know about the life around and beyond me. I found deep comfort in the words of Hafiz, "Now retire, my dear, From all that hard work you do, Of bringing pain to your sweet eyes and heart. Look in a clear mountain mirror, See the Beautiful Ancient Warrior And the Divine elements, You always carry inside." I am someone who always strives to be better, faster, and stronger in some way or another, and often that looks like a desperate struggle for internal certainty and mental superiority. If I just work the hardest and know the most and never quiver, I will be fine- this is often my thought process. However, these words from Hafiz summarize my feelings about having all the answers now: rest. I am good enough, we are all in process, and we will always carry ourselves. I will never stop being curious, asking questions, or seeking to better myself and the world around me, so I do not need to strain myself at it. Keep living, and in living the questions, perhaps, I will find the answers that ring true, not just ring quickly. 

As Tom Cheetham discusses at the beginning of Green Man, Earth Angel, we are holistic, inter-connected beings. Much of the damage of the present is how we have severed and cut ourselves off from parts of ourselves, silencing our bodies, our souls, and our inner beings in lieu of reason, logic, and mechanism. He discussed this again in his lecture, noting this separation between darkness and light, especially as we dive into ourselves, parts of ourselves we may have never given a voice before. We descend into our deep, dark basements and find shadows, question marks, and things we would have rather forgotten. However, all of this- our slowness, our demons, our messes, our frailties, they are us and they are our homes while we walk this equally blended earth. I discovered the potential of contentment once I chose to drop the weapons against myself. No part of me is my enemy. Even the demons are my allies, they may just not always be telling the full truth. My flesh is my home, my portal to sensation, experience, and wisdom, rather than my weakness or something that just must get better and better. My perfectionism and drive are my assets, my engine, rather than my slavedrivers or my dictators. My holy city resides within me, and for once, I understand what Paul meant by we are a temple. All of me is a temple, with a long table full of wise, layered characters, ready to advise, embody, and care for me- even if they are not perfect or the full picture on their own. I am ready to reengage the muscles Cheetham mentions, the love Rumi and Hafiz explore, and the lifestyle drenched in virtue embodied by Rabia. I will not be perfect, but I will be loved. I adored our readings on love, and felt my soul applying them to myself. I am my own greatest lover. I am my own greatest caretaker. I finally see the God in me that is able to care for and love the God in you- to love my neighbor as I love myself. 

I find myself drinking my coffee soaking in the sunshine of my own backyard, watching my dog test his spinal flexibility in the grass, and not minding the extra belly rolls as I tuck my legs into the chair. I fall in love with my teal walls and warm candles every time I see them, recount praise as I see my partner's almond eyes that hold my universe in their depths, and hear the sighs of enoughness even as I scroll notifications, to-do lists, and essay pages. The mundane has become my houses of worship. I have found my holy city within myself, this deep well of contentment, in part with the words and wisdom from this class. It is not perfection, but it is enough. I am enough. This is enough. What is coming is enough. Together, we will be enough. Even when the storms come, the sky will be enough to weather them, and so will I. I finally know what it is to be a temple, and I won't desecrate myself again.