There is something forever sacred about a Sunday morning for me. Perhaps the feeling stems from ritual during childhood. Perhaps because Sunday's always seem more quiet...as if Saturday is an extension of the week, fitting in all the scheduled "weekend activities". Perhaps because they are filled with memories of cozy, campfire mornings with my tent nearby. Whatever the reason, I love them.

In choosing my new home months ago, little did I know how supported this Sunday morning love would be. Every Sunday morning the local church bells sing to me. Now that fall is dawning, the birds sing along too.

As I sat this morning in quiet stillness (however briefly solo before two littles joined me), it felt so peaceful. Perhaps I am not kneeling at an alter. Perhaps I am not seated in full lotus in a cave. However, seated in my old camp chair, on my little deck with the air so fresh from a night of heavy rainfall, savouring my hot coffee and being serenaded by the bells and bird, it was definitely sacred.

Here's to a simple sacredness... And to hot coffee on a crisp Sunday morning!

Namaste <3

Your soundtrack for the following musings. Please press play and read on...

For the unification of my breath, the beat and my feet
all carrying me both towards and away from
with each deliberate step.

For not knowing where the rain ends and my sweat begins, 
and for not caring as both feel equally delicious as they dance across my skin.

For the certainty that this goal,
this spirit igniting goal,
which today seems so very far away
will soon be my undeniable reality.

For the time earned wisdom which reminds me that these obstacles,
they are merely building strength to catapult life forward into an expression of even more joy.

For vast nothingness.

For lost trains of thought.
Concerns processed, now the past and released.

For the opportunity to run directly into the wind.
The wind; the request from the universe to decide and commit.
As I lean in, it blows away any superficial shit
and leaves behind only space for commitment to my souls desire.

For hitting the edge of my comfort zone.
For acknowledging it, and yet still running on.

For sweet, soulful solitude.

For an insatiable hunger for love,
and for inspiration,
and for passion,
and for life.

For the opportunity to practice that pausing to catch my breath is not failure,
in fact it may be the key to a more pleasurable journey to success,
whatever success may look like in the end.

For a deep knowing that it's not just going to be OK,
it's going to be fucking glorious.

For all of this and more,
gratitude.

Namaste.