When I show up for myself, my attention is focused in the present moment. I’m fully there. I can feel my muscles, tissues and bones. I can screen my thoughts. And there is only one feeling, the feeling of being alive, breathing. Heart pumping.
On that moment I know I don’t need anybody else. I’m enough. I’m all right on my own and I can decide what the next step is. Lately, that decision has been resumed to stay in the moment. To appreciate what is, instead of thinking forward.
I dreamt for long enough. I have been dreaming all these years, and while you dream, you are removed from the present moment. You are not in the now, you are in the land of imagination and half-way drafted narratives.
In my dreams, I saw beautiful pictures. I carried them around with me, under my arm, knocking on people’s door just to ask whether they had seen them too. I walked so much. I visited so many doors. Some beautiful, others ugly. Some very bright, others not so much.
It was all necessary, but I remained absent. I forgot about my achy legs and toes. I forgot I was thirsty and that I needed to sleep too. Those were crazy days, searching for the slightest glimpse of a piece of evidence.
God used to speak to me, but I didn’t want to listen. I thought I had no time for such trickery fields. I had to find enough evidence so that I could rest assured that I wasn’t crazy and that those magical scenes I once saw were more than just dreams.
It was only when I showed up for myself that I finally realised it had been there all the time, waiting for me to stop running away and stop climbing the highest mountains. It was closer than I could ever guess and all it took was a direction shift.
The moment I chose myself was also the moment my dreams chose me.