For your Trueness
holds your soul well
while you free voice
in the story you must tell.
−verse 6 of Transforming Trueness (Repose)
Oddly enough, I began composing this piece on trueness and focus at a moment when I was questioning my focus in this work I do. From the standpoint of Trueness, I had stumbled in my walk with the art of holding. It Happens.
The stagger in my step came as I found myself looking at a barrier instead of around it. Instead of seeing opportunity beyond, I gave attention to the barrier itself−consequently attaching me to an outcome that is not my desire, my intent, and certainly not in the middle where the two meet and lead me to hold a steady, flowing presence.
Years ago we lived in the deep south in a house that backed to a bird sanctuary. The region in which we lived was on the migration path of the ruby-throated hummingbird. This beautiful little creature was among the many we enjoyed watching right in that backyard. It was fun watching the hummingbirds play and compete for the ports on the feeders loaded with sweet water.
As they drank continuously−storing up energy for the long journey to Mexico−they would get a bit rambunctious with each other. One day while watching them I noticed one bird hovering near the ground and tipping down to look at something in the grass. A tiny head struggled to peer upward and acknowledge the airborne comrade.
It seems in the intoxicating, exuberant play there had been a collision. I opened the sliding glass door, stepped onto the grass, located the little bugger, and placed him in the palm of my hand. I carried him inside and, as it was very early, I stirred my wife from her sleep so we could attend to our little friend.
By the time I had retrieved the bird from the grass, he was pretty out of it. As I carefully held his limp body in an open palm, and as Becky searched for a straw to offer him some drops of energy, he began to buzz in short bursts. Within a few hums he was carefully in flight edging along the glass door and then through the opening to freedom I had left.
Maybe what I’m being asked to learn is, that to more steadily walk in the art of holding, I must allow myself to be held by my own Trueness.
So what exactly is this art of holding? In our own Trueness it is indeed the way we are held; gently, without judgment, and with an openness freeing us into a flowing presence.
Now here’s the best part of my encounter with the little bird. For the remainder of that season, and all of the next, whenever I would walk into the yard while the hummers were playfully feeding, they would all scatter−except for that one little friend. He would land on the limb above my head and sit with me until I returned indoors.
The art of holding is a way with freedom−being with something or someone long enough to understand while releasing promptly into the full and present flow of the larger story.
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