Palms Open To The River Of Service

The life of both artists and freelancers is, I think, rarely well balanced. That is, you end up in periods of frenetic busy mania, followed by long stretches of arid desert, wherein you wonder if you’ll ever create or work again. At the moment I am living in the former, but can see the latter in the distance (or at least for now that’s what I see). As I scramble to write this post, eat breakfast, finish packing, and head up to Northampton to teach a two-day workshop at Smith College, I am looking at a completely empty datebook barreling toward me, and all the fear and sadness and superego attack that comes with it.

But the tiny, quiet voice in meditation manages to remind me occasionally (when I can listen) that as long as I approach all of my practices from a place of service, something will arise. My path has always felt better when I have asked, How can I help? Rather than, How can I be helped?