The Art of Living

My great love, of late, has been cultivating the most artful form of living. Life in action. Existence as a verb.

On the first of July, I turned 28. Since then, I have experienced powerful transformation. I’ve begun crafting potent tonic herbal potions on a daily basis that have upped my physical and subtle vibrations tremendously. I have introduced Vedic Meditation and Kundalini yoga into my practice. Several moons ago, I was promoted at work, which exponentially leveled up my happiness and general quality of life. I continue to work with nutrition clients on the side. I am busier than I have ever been before, in my adult life, since finishing college.

Working full-time (and, sometimes, up to 10 days consecutively) while also having clients on the side is…a beautiful type of madness. I don’t know how I’d manage that if I had anyone else to take care of besides myself. My singleness is on my side in moments like these (shout out to all the girl boss mamas out there managing entrepreneurship, relationship, motherhood, and self-care…you are the heroes).

With less “spare” time to flit around, I have come to really cherish the slow and sacred moments before and after spells of “obligation”, if you will. By that I mean, time spent at work, driving to and from, in meetings or in line at the DMV or on hold with the auto dealership who sent you a notice about a recall requiring replacement but has no ETA on said replacement…I digress.

In my very recent and very intriguing transformative experiences, I have begun to look at every aspect of my life as fluid and beautiful, not just the moments “before and after the obligations.” That is one of the core purposes, or perhaps beneficial side-effects, of mindfulness, of intentional living, of spiritual practice – is for one’s entire life to be flooded by the magic of those moments, of that intention, of that Spirit.

There is magic in all of it. Every bit of it is art. The transient, quiet space of waking up…recalling dreams, settling Spirit back into body, marveling at the wonder of eyelashes blinking, sands of sleep fading into the brilliant light of day. The sacred ritual of morning; for me, that means boiling water, sitting for meditation, concocting a morning mug of healing warmth, preparing for my day. The slow mornings of tarot and altar space, sage burning and gratitude practice, journaling and introspective journeying. The quick mornings when I fall victim to my phone before I’ve found a seat for meditation and everything gets pressed into fast forward, but I still find a gentle response within myself to understand this action, to sympathize with it, and to allow myself to slowly reintegrate mindfulness into my motion. The sweet reminders, in the car on that doggone freeway, to breathe deeply, sing loud to the radio, roll the windows down and recall that it’s not where I’m going that anchors this experience, it’s the manner in which I get there. The energy with which I travel, through this life, to and from, in and out, beforeduringafter.

It’s the intentional love and artfulness that we bring to our every phase. Our mornings, choosing ritual over routine; our workdays, allowing our creative selves to infuse magic into the often burdensome need to earn a living; our physical movement, praising the abilities of our bodies rather than the aesthetics; our spiritual practice, giving thanks for a Higher power through which to stay rooted on this orbiting globe; our evenings, a time of surrender and coming home to ourselves; our relationships, mirrors of perfectly flawed humanity through which love is born, karma burns, the land of our bodies scorched and deliciously scarred by the searing, lightning-hot bursts of passion; our self-care, steeped in holy essence, sacred only to us, the thread that holds together our entire fabric.

It is a gift, this awareness. It is a gift, this life. The capacity to experience life as art, as ritual, as sacred. This is all a gift. To connect here is a gift. To be lost in the colors undulating outside the windowpane as my fingers dance across the keys bringing my musings to your brilliant minds is a gift. To be unhurried is a gift. To be alive is a gift. May it always be electric. May it always be saturated with creativity. May it always be art.





2 thoughts on “The Art of Living

  1. And thank you for this gift, Sara! It’s a wonderful summery expression of abundance and overflowing gratitude. Live it, moment by moment, separating none of it out. There’s no end to any of it, and no beginning. Just this life. Just this love. Just this amazement at it all.

    And happy birthday, too! You’re blogger-rific!

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