Slowness under the ‘falling leaves moon’.
By Laura Mazurek
Slowness brings you closer to the present moment. Closer to truth. It allows you to really feel the edges of life instead of blindly plowing through your days mindlessly, missing all the nectar of the fruit. I know the contrast to this well. I spent many of my days, weeks, months living deep in my masculine energy. Failing to slow down long enough to see my own blind spots. Some days I wonder how different things may be if I had been more present within certain aspects of my life. But as I am learning to live more in the present moment, I try not to dwell on the what ifs of days gone by. Goodness do I know that sinkhole all too well, and it’s one I still have to climb my way out of more often than I’d like to admit.
This season of life has been one of the most revealing and challenging passageways into my personal unfurling. At times I feel I have been forced into slowness, and her sister, surrender. Against my will, they have been lassoed around me, and held me captive. But as I have begun to peel the layers of self back, I have realized it’s only my mind that has held me captive. Slowness and surrender have actually been angels in disguise. I have learned that going slow with things like heartache, healing and life altering decisions, you may find truths revealed along the way that you could not foresee. Sometimes the forced pauses that you think are obstacles are actually protection.
There are different kinds of slowness… There is the kind where you are mindful, observant and present with whatever task or moment you are in. For example, if you are drinking a cup of coffee or tea, you feel the warmth of the mug in your hands, you really taste it’s flavor on your tongue, you smell it’s aroma and soak it in. You may even experience a deep exhale in your body after you inhale it’s smell. You may feel a sense of calm and warmth course through your body. You are allowing yourself to truly take in the moment with all of your senses. You feel a connection with your action. This can be done with just about anything you are doing in the moment. Yet, so often we rush through our days feeling so disconnected from these moments that by the end of the day we question ourselves with the thought of, what did I even do today? I have found that when I can connect with my moment at hand in this deeper way, gratitude naturally follows. I find that slowness and gratitude go hand in hand.
Then there is the kind of slowness I mentioned before, with our bigger picture life events. This can be with letting go of an attachment, falling in love with your best friend, working your way through trauma, learning to see your own patterns, or learning to self regulate. Slowness can be a beautiful thing when moving through the big stuff. It can teach you patience, compassion, forgiveness, and can be what allows you to fully feel your feelings. It can be a doorway to loving yourself deeper than you ever have before. It can be the container for gently moving through the darkness that inevitably invites itself into your life without your permission. Slowness can be a salve to your wounds if you allow it to be.
Slowness can also be an emergence into radical joy and inner child play. Being present when you look up at the sky and take pause long enough to see shapes in the clouds morph from one thing to another. It can propel you into noticing things you might not notice without it’s presence. Like how hearts show up all around you in nature, or love notes left on trees by lovers, or the look in your child’s eyes when they are lit up with the giggles. It can be an invitation to make a different choice in that moment. To remember the dishes can wait another 10 minutes, and so can that email. Maybe stopping to notice the way the leaves are starting to turn crunchy and how that reminds that your favorite season is near, and it will be gone before you know it.
So you might as well slow down and enjoy it.
Words and Photos by Laura Mazurek
Instagram | Etsy
“My current reflection of self is a mother and full time caregiver weaving my way through the grief of loss and rediscovering the parts of myself that laid dormant for too long. Some days I am an artist, other days I am learning to full belly feel life’s edges. I am still in the cocoon process of metamorphosis and I will slowly be unfurling for the rest of my life.”
