The Movement in Stillness

Spring’s emergence is a reminder that winter’s process, whether in the physical realm or within our own internal one, teaches us that stillness is never empty—it is full of unseen life, of energy coiling inward, preparing for release.  In these moments, there is a rawness inherent in transformation, in both discomfort and immense potential for renewal.

The Essence of Being

We’ve been taught to measure movement by what is visible, but real transformation begins in the places we can’t yet see. The deepest changes don’t come from force or striving, but from allowing. From surrendering to the messy in-between, where what we were and what we are becoming exist all at once.

Simply being doesn't imply inactivity... it actually embodies an active engagement with life, with ourselves. It is leaning in, engaging with the self, attuning to our natural rhythms, and allowing our inherent wisdom to guide us in alignment with life's flow, even amidst its endless complexities.

These natural rhythms carry innate intelligence—the fullness of expression, the deep reservoirs of emotions, the quiet knowings that exist beyond logic.  The wisdom embedded in our bones, in our blood & mixed with stardust… flowing without conscious knowing because it simply is us.

Like an interconnected ecosystem, we are woven into both the microcosms and macrocosms of the universe. Energy flows across space and time, linking different places and time zones, all existing within the same cosmic breath. As the sun rises in one part of the world and sets in another, our rhythms merge and intertwine, each moment of wakefulness and rest sending an unseen pulse across the globe.

But this connection isn’t limited to the present moment. Time itself, with its past and future, is not separate from us; it exists simultaneously through our being. Just as our energy is always in motion across the world, it transcends the boundaries of day-to-day existence—intertwining the past with the future through the simple act of being. Our lives are part of an eternal flow, where past moments ripple forward, and future moments pull us back, constantly coalescing in the vast expanse of existence.

Being in essence, is meeting ourselves exactly where we are, when we are, how we are—acknowledging the full spectrum, complexities & nuances of our existence.   It’s a space of choice: how we engage with our inner and outer worlds, what we cultivate within and around us. Yet, so often, that choice feels distant—buried beneath what we’ve been conditioned to suppress.

The Building of Fractured Energy Cycles

The fullness of it all—the subconscious and the conscious, the light and the dark, the seen and the unseen—is always present, whether we acknowledge it or not. Every moment is an invitation to meet ourselves more deeply, but that requires a willingness & cultivation to feel everything with a raw honesty that arises.  And we know—that shit ain’t always so simple.

We’ve been conditioned to move through life in opposition to ourselves, resisting our own nature. We are taught to fear discomfort, to silence instincts, to dismiss the longing for something more.  If we feel anything beyond "fine," there’s little space for it.  So we push it aside, pushing forward—keep going, keep doing, keep performing.  Yet, all the unprocessed parts of ourselves pile up, buried but constantly spilling over.

These buried currents don’t disappear. They manifest as agitation, disconnection, an internal restlessness that lingers beneath the surface. We chase after an illusion of fulfillment—be this, do that, hold onto the thing that promises happiness—but it always remains just out of reach. The discomfort we fear holds the very key to the change we crave, but instead of embracing it, we often settle into familiar cycles of survival.

Our responses become habitual, coping rather than choosing. tangled in deep-rooted beliefs that keep us small. And even when something within us stirs, pulling us toward change, we often find ourselves trapped in the same loops, wondering why we can’t break free.

We’ve been led to believe there is no choice—that things simply are the way they are. But being is the reclamation of that choice. The awareness to see it, the cultivation to engage with it, & the courage to step into it fully.  It is the recognition that the universe moves with us, mirrors us, breathes us into existence—not separate from it, but of it.  We, like the cosmos, are in a constant state of creation, expression, destruction, and renewal. And in that remembering, we begin to truly be.

Leaning In

Stillness doesn’t just hold us—it confronts us. It brings us face to face with the parts of ourselves we’ve spent years avoiding. The stories that still hold power. The wounds that still shape us. The emotions we’d rather outrun. And yet, when we meet discomfort with presence, something shifts. The pain stops being something to fear and becomes something to listen to.

To be present can be deeply uncomfortable and raw.

 Because the truth is—healing isn’t clean. Growth isn’t graceful.  It’s raw, exposing, and often terrifying.  It doesn’t always feel like expansion; sometimes it feels like being split open.  But when we allow it—when we lean into the breaking, into the unraveling—what once felt like destruction becomes the very thing that sets us free.

Leaning in, invites us to meet ourselves exactly where we are—raw, vulnerable and present.  It’s about cultivating trust within our own system, and allowing ourselves to feel the discomforts that arise, attuning to the wisdom that exists within us.  The triggers that arise—the ones that stir old wounds and survival patterns—are not just obstacles; they are access points, revealing the deeper narratives that shape our lives. 

Too often, we have learned to desensitize as a means of survival—to numb, to distract, to shrink ourselves into something more digestible.  We've been conditioned to seek validation externally, modifying our expression to fit expectations, measuring our worth through the eyes of others rather than trusting the quiet knowing within.  The ingrained patterns whisper that we are not enough, unworthy, or misplaced in our own existence cycle with this energy, reinforced by experience, until we pause long enough to meet them. These narratives that run beneath the surface often seem like the whole truth, yet they are only fragments. 

When left unacknowledged, these unprocessed energies take up space in our being.   At times, it feels as though everything will fall apart if we let go, so we hold on tight, gripping the familiar.  But within these very spaces of discomfort lie the threads of something deeper still.  Often triggered through upheavals of everything we’ve been holding for so long, it is amplified.  Beneath the stories, the survival mechanisms, and the busyness, there is an invitation—to listen, to feel, to integrate.

How do we meet ourselves in these moments?  What foundational beliefs shape our perceptions? Some of these beliefs are not even ours to begin with; they are inherited, passed down through generations, woven into the collective fabric of human experience.  They may carry pain, but they also carry wisdom.  What can we learn from them?  What do we continue to perpetuate, and what are we ready to reclaim?

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At first, leaning in can feel like stepping from a warm room into the bitter cold.  The initial shock contracts us, triggering an reaction to retreat.  But if we stay with it—if we allow ourselves to feel through the discomfort—something remarkable happens. The cold sharpens our senses, wakes us up, makes us pay attention.  It reveals truths we might otherwise ignore.  Stillness mirrors this process. Like cold air meeting warm skin, it jolts us awake, stripping away distraction, forcing us to face what is underneath, where our sensitivity to it- invites us to lean in, to process, and to ultimately transform. 

Transformation isn’t about fighting against what is. It’s about surrendering to the process— to trust the wisdom that moves through us. When we stop fighting against ourselves, we remember that we, like the universe itself, are in a constant state of creation, destruction, and renewal.

This is a process.  It is in the pause, in the listening, that the unseen forces of healing take root long before they bloom into visible change.  Even in stillness, energy flows—realigning, shifting, guiding us toward deeper coherence of everything within and without. The more we attune to this, the more we trust the unfolding of our lives, knowing that transformation is always in motion. 

  Leaning in, the spaces within us that we once feared—our grief, our pain, our rawness—become portals; communication channels between the conscious and subconscious, between past wounds and present awareness.  The parts of us that we’ve feared—our grief, our pain, our brokenness—become pathways to deeper self-awareness, with the ability to recalibrate the fractures of ourselves into the bridges of our wholeness.

The Art of Grafting

Nature doesn’t discard what came before—it builds upon it. A tree doesn’t reject its old roots; it grafts them into something new. Wounds become wisdom. Fractures become foundations. And so do we.

Energy is always in motion—exchanging, flowing, evolving—whether we are aware of it or not. It pulses through every breath, every interaction, every moment of existence.  A tree, when damaged, does not abandon the wound. It heals around it, strengthening the site of injury until the wound itself becomes part of its resilience. The scar does not weaken the tree—it fortifies it. And within us, healing is not about erasure but transformation. The raw places we often try to hide are actually portals—entry points to deeper understanding, deeper connection, deeper love.

The past, the pain, the fractures—we don’t erase them. They are not weights to be cast aside, nor burdens to be buried. They are threads in the fabric of our becoming, woven into the very essence of who we are. To cut them away would be to unravel our own story, to sever ourselves from the wisdom they carry. Instead, we have the power to graft—to take what once felt broken and integrate it into something whole.

Grafting is an ancient practice—an intentional merging, where one life is woven into another to create something new.

Grafting requires intention. In nature, two branches are bound together with care, they are nurtured, blending lineage and renewal until they fuse into one. Within us, the same principle applies. We must meet our past with tenderness, hold space for our wounds without resistance, and cultivate the conditions for healing to take root.

Love, in its truest form, is unconditional—never something to be earned or proven, but something that simply is, moving through all things, seen and unseen.

Curiosity is essential here.  It is easy to assume we already know ourselves, viewing life through the lens of past experiences.  But we are always expanding, stretching beyond inherited narratives.  When we step outside conditioned understanding, we open to something greater—a love that exists without expectation, a wisdom that has always been available, a rhythm that continues even in stillness. 

This is where love—true love, the kind that restores and integrates—must be applied in its rawest form.  It is not a performance or a fleeting feeling, but an active force—one that says, Even here, in the rawness of my becoming, I will not abandon myself. Even in this pain, I will meet myself with compassion.

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When we stop fighting ourselves—when we surrender to the wisdom woven into our lived experiences—something profound happens: we reclaim our wholeness. Not as something to be earned or proven, but as something that has always existed beneath the surface, waiting for us to remember.

To graft love back into the parts of us that feel severed is to say yes to ourselves in the deepest possible way.  It is to rewrite the story of fragmentation into one of integration, where every part of us—past and present—has a place, a purpose, and a home within us, restoring the natural coherence of our being.

Stillness does not mark the absence of movement; it is where movement begins. 

All my love,

Jenn

The Art of Stillness: 10 Practices for cultivating Your Inner Wisdom

1. Morning Grounding Practice

• What it looks like: Start each day with a grounding ritual, such as sitting in silence for 5-10 minutes, focusing on your breath, or observing the world around you without distraction. This can be done outside, if possible, to connect with the energy of the earth, or inside with a simple mindfulness practice.
• Why it matters: This helps you connect with your body and environment, creating a mindful foundation for the day ahead and reminding you that stillness is a place for life and growth, not emptiness.

2. Journaling with Raw Honesty

• What it looks like: Dedicate time each day or week to write freely in a journal. Start by reflecting on how you are feeling without trying to "fix" or "improve" anything. Let your thoughts flow naturally—this can include questions like, "What am I resisting in this moment?" or "What truth within me am I not acknowledging?"
• Why it matters: Journaling allows you to meet yourself where you are, acknowledging all aspects of your being—the light, the dark, and everything in between. It creates a space for self-reflection and expression, allowing unconscious energy to move into conscious awareness.

3. Embodied Movement

• What it looks like: Engage in physical activities that promote connection with your body—whether it’s yoga, tai chi, or simply taking a walk without a destination. Allow the movement to be fluid and attuned to your body’s rhythms rather than forcing it.
• Why it matters: This practice aligns you with your natural rhythms, helping you feel the wisdom embedded in your body and connecting you to your internal energy. Movement, especially mindful movement, encourages the release of stagnant emotions and energy.

4. Breathing Exercises to Anchor Presence

• What it looks like: Throughout the day, take moments to check in with your breath. Try deep breathing exercises like box breathing (inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four) or simply breathe slowly and deeply into your belly.
• Why it matters: Breath is a powerful tool for bringing us into the present moment and helping us stay grounded. It creates a connection between body and mind and can help navigate discomfort by re-centering our focus in the now.

5. Leaning into Discomfort with Compassion

• What it looks like: When you encounter discomfort or emotional triggers, instead of pushing them away, pause and take a moment to acknowledge them. Allow yourself to feel the discomfort without judgment, perhaps even asking, "What is this feeling trying to teach me?"
• Why it matters: Leaning into discomfort, rather than resisting or numbing it, creates space for transformation. The discomfort may reveal deeper truths or unmet needs, and acknowledging it with compassion allows the healing process to unfold.

6. Creating Space for Stillness and Reflection

• What it looks like: Set aside specific times in your day or week for complete stillness. This could be as simple as taking 15-20 minutes to sit quietly without distractions, closing your eyes, and simply being present. Avoid any external stimulation like phone use or noise.
• Why it matters: Stillness is where transformation begins. By intentionally creating moments of stillness, you allow your mind to quiet and connect with the deeper layers of your being. This is where the unseen forces of healing take root.

7. Mindful Listening and Conversations

• What it looks like: Practice being fully present when engaging with others. Listen without interrupting or trying to fix things, allowing the space for someone to express their raw truths. This can be applied in personal relationships, or even with a community group.
• Why it matters: True connection often comes from being fully present with others. The practice of mindful listening creates a supportive environment for healing and transformation, where the wisdom of both parties can emerge naturally.

8. Daily Reflection and Recalibration

• What it looks like: At the end of each day, reflect on your experiences. What moments stood out? What emotions were triggered? Did you notice any patterns or cycles in your behavior? You could ask yourself, “What did I learn today?” and consider how to integrate any lessons into your life moving forward.
• Why it matters: Reflecting daily keeps you connected to your evolving process. It allows you to consciously witness your growth and see where recalibration might be needed to realign with your core being.

9. Engaging with Nature

• What it looks like: Spend time outside each day, whether it’s walking in a park, sitting under a tree, or simply observing the changing environment around you. Notice the details—the way the wind feels, the sound of birds, the quality of light.
• Why it matters: Nature is an external reflection of the rhythms within us. Engaging with the natural world helps ground us, fostering a sense of interconnectedness and reminding us that, like the seasons, we too are in constant cycles of transformation.

10. Building Supportive Community

• What it looks like: Surround yourself with people who support your growth and encourage presence. This could be through a close-knit circle of friends, a spiritual community, or a support group. Make space for open, honest conversations that foster vulnerability and trust.
• Why it matters: Transformation is often supported through connection. Engaging with others who are also leaning into presence can provide encouragement and accountability. Supportive relationships allow us to share our experiences and process together, creating space for collective healing.