Even though life seems to be hard at times, I tend to forget that healing is always an inside job. However, recurring to nature’s very own Prozac (free and wonderfully effective) seems to be out of reach and thousands of miles away. How convenient.
In the past month or so, I took back the reigns of my emotions by taking action and consciously, choosing to be happy and merrier than the rest. Went back to singing “Rudolph the red nose reindeer” (a few months shy of the actual time of the year), I had the most amazing time with a group of girlfriends who reminded me the power of a good friendship. I tried out the new vegan recipes I had been dying to savor and went ahead and embellished my reading collection with a few (ok… A LOT) of self help books that I find to be fascinating and honestly, very endearing.
I rekindled my affair with the pavement after dental surgery, took my yoga mat out for some fresh air and curried my way back into the kitchen (along with a few other spices). I am still reconnecting with that minion inside my mind who tries to communicate with me; and who I try to listen on most days, and have found very refreshing to accept very willingly a cat and a dog’s unconditional love and mind boggling wisdom. And with this new appealing side of kharma, I seem to have understood what the wonderful Bernie Siegel said in his book The art of healing: “become an artist and fill your palette with laughter”.
Reuniting with friends over a 12 hour chatter party has always cornered me into accountability and acknowledging a very calm breeze through silent meditation and stumbling upon a fake buddhist monk in the middle of central park who made, not only an ass out of myself but got me out of my own little mystified world. I have become the muse of my personal canvas, and I have shed some light into the dark colors that seem to be the centerpiece of my somewhat perfectly imperfect life.
On this note, I conclude: life is worth living with all the colors of the palette.