§10 · Love Remains · 792 Hz · Meraki · Remember
Where do I start?
In-Room Exercise — Where Do I Start?
Stand, if you are able. Feet planted. Weight descending through the soles into the floor, through the floor into whatever is beneath it, all the way down to the ground that has held every living thing this planet has grown.
You know the stations. You can climb or you can dive. Either arrives at the same ground.
To ascend — begin at the Earth Star, move upward toward the crisis:
Earth Star: Never the same riverbed. Always flowing. Root: I am here. I belong to this ground. Sacral: I want, and wanting carries no shame. Solar Plexus: I choose. The chooser arrives as gift. Heart: I harmonize. Music moves between us. Break: We have enough. I am enough. Throat: I speak. My voice carries what only I have seen. Third Eye: I see. More moves here than the surface shows. Crown: One thing. All things. Simultaneously. Crisis: I am not me. I am.
To descend — begin at the Crisis, move downward toward the ground:
Crisis: I am not me. I am. Crown: One thing. All things. Simultaneously. Third Eye: I see. More moves here than the surface shows. Throat: I speak. My voice carries what only I have seen. Break: We have enough. I am enough. Heart: I harmonize. Music moves between us. Solar Plexus: I choose. The chooser arrives as gift. Sacral: I want, and wanting carries no shame. Root: I am here. I belong to this ground. Earth Star: Never the same riverbed. Always flowing.
Both paths arrive at the Earth Star — the ground beneath the ground, Vasundhara:
Only love remains.
Stay there. Not long — just long enough to know it is there.
(longer pause)
Rest there a moment. Then ask, inwardly:
How has ground changed?
You do not need to answer. The answer has already been sculpted into the firmament by every step you just took. Let the question dissolve.
Then, inwardly or aloud:
I remember.
I am love, wearing a body, for a time.
That is enough.
Where do I start?
Practice in the Wild — Inkwell
Before the day begins, before the first decision, before the phone — sit with a canvas and four questions.
The canvas holds four quadrants. Each quadrant belongs to one element, one layer of what it means to be alive in a body on a particular morning.
Air — upper right. The stickiest thought. The one that will not leave. Reduce it to a word and write it there, handing it over to the static and the still. Writing is a sacrifice: what lives inside becomes fixed on the page so the inside can move again.
Water — upper left. The feeling underneath the thought. Draw a face — not a pretty one, not a recognizable one — the face you actually wore this morning. Let it be seen.
Earth — lower left. The unmet need the feeling guards. Draw the shape of the empty space. Stay with what is missing long enough to stop pretending it is not.
Fire — lower right. The burden. The agreement or boundary that is not serving, the one that keeps the need unmet. Sketch it. Surround it with stones and tinder. You do not need to burn it today. Let it know you see it.
Center. Now review the four. From this full picture of the morning, ask the silence for a mantra — one phrase that leads through what is present toward what wants to live. Write nothing until it arrives on its own. Then write only that.
Where do I start?
There. That is where.
The full practice lives at inkwell.kerry.ink.