Sweet Surrender

When I allow myself to rest into what is, sweetness emerges. Sweetness in the peace and serenity, a mellow taste of life. Savouring this life gifted to me, oh, what more is there to ask for? There is always room for more, and what I have is enough. I possess neither lack nor feelings of lack. This moment, finely sweet…exquisite, intricate—a drop of warm honey rolling on my tongue, spreading the sweetness of the labor of worker bees, of the honeysuckle blossoms bursting in spring, of the nourishing rays and loving rain. Richness in the subtleties of a moment. An abundant feast. I feast on my life, I feast on me, oh, every moment can be this sweet. Ecstasy.

what arose from meditation this morning.


Blessed I am
with every breath, every moment,
with the first light of my day
I am alive. I can still see.

Blessed I am
to be awoken by the chirping of the birds,
to the whistling of the kettle.
I am sheltered. I can still hear. 

Blessed I am
to rise with kisses and hugs from my beloved,
and breakfast prepared with love.
I am adored. I can still feel.

Blessed I am
with the company of great books and food,
and deep connections with friends and family.
I am nourished. I am full.

Blessed I am
to be walking in the park, 
enjoying the liveliness and lessons nature offers.
I am present. I am free.

Blessed, I am.


I learned to co-exist with another human—
hold my personal space while respecting the other’s

I learned to be with myself—cry with sorrow
for the faceless who had to die alone 
and the nameless who had to grieve alone.

I learned to surrender to my powerlessness
and say in utter defeat—
I don’t know what I can do.

I learned my limits as a human being.

I learned to crack open—turn to the universe 
for guidance, and allowed life to fill me.

I learned creativity and compassion are within me
once I’m present to receive. I am abundant—
more than able to give.

I learned the importance of being 
isn’t any less than doing—a simple act—
staying at home has effects on the world.

I learned my power as a human being.

1 min read

A duration
attached to a poem,
by that, what are we saying?
Is one minute all
that’s needed to fully grasp
the entire landscape painted
by the poet?

Have we smiled or shed a tear;
have our eyes twinkled, or our hearts
changed their beat, moved by
the new world we’ve just entered,
the preciousness infused
into a minute?

When we rush through life, what are we getting out of it?


How much are thoughts worth,
if a dollar sign can be tagged to each?
It used to be a penny, with inflation,
now, it’s gotta be more.
Are thoughts good or bad?
How does one tie a value to them?
A thought can summon a storm,
put a man on the moon,
or scare the shit out of you.
Perhaps, not all should see the light of day,
yet, how can we be certain? Surely,
they ought to be seen by the thinker,
not held back from a pretty journal!

I used to find it a challenge keeping up with daily journaling. I could get a pretty notebook but even that didn’t entice me to write. In fact, it made it harder. I was stressed out with what to print in the book. My inner critic started judging me for my messy handwriting and shaming me for not having “creative” or “good” thoughts put down in the book.

Over time, I changed to a plain notebook which was more economical. Since I was doing the practice of Morning Pages daily, I was filling up my pages really fast. And guess what, I still caught myself holding back some of my thoughts.

Since then, I’ve made a pact with myself, committing to put every single thought down before judging them. Good or bad, hey, I deserve to see them. And surprise! I bought a slightly prettier notebook recently because I’m determined to fill it up with whatever thoughts I have. Not only do I deserve to see them, my thoughts matter to me. They don’t have to be seen by others but here’s when I start practicing being honest with myself.

How about you, dear one? How are you filtering your thoughts? What judgment are you having on yourself? Why and how did that come about?