I’m writing this on 11/11, thinking about the openings we recognize, and the ones we almost miss because they arrive somewhere we would never think to look.
Today, mine was inside an MRI machine.
I’d had one before, but only my head was inside. This time, my upper body went in first, and then my whole body. Before we began, he told me it would be twenty minutes.
Lying inside that cylinder, with instructions to stay still and all that knocking and clanging around me, I remember thinking how strange it was. I could understand why someone who’s claustrophobic would have a difficult time.
Then I wondered, Can I hear my guides in here?
I started talking with my guides and angels. And somewhere in that conversation, I realized I wasn’t hearing the machine anymore.
It was still going. I had become so absorbed in the connection that I’d completely tuned it out.
I loved discovering that. Something so familiar and loving was available to me in this very unfamiliar place.
It reminded me of my vision quest. Alone in nature, in the dark, surrounded by sounds I couldn’t identify. There was plenty my mind could have made frightening. Yet I felt deeply held by the earth, by nature and the animals, by everything around me. It became one of the most beautiful experiences of my life.
Both experiences left me curious about how we meet what’s happening. Where our attention goes. What we expect to find, and what becomes available when we listen a little differently.
And then there are the floods we just had.
They sucked. They really, truly sucked.
A different mindset wasn’t going to stop the rain or undo the damage. There were real problems that needed attention, and people who were exhausted and upset. That deserves to be acknowledged without rushing to find a beautiful meaning in it.
I want my spiritual life to have room for that honesty, too.
And when there is a little room to breathe, I want to remember to ask: What can I do from here?
What needs care? Who can help? What am I assuming about what comes next? How much of tomorrow am I already giving to something that happened today?
Yesterday, I heard someone on a podcast talking about the 52 days left in the year. About mindset and what we could do with that time.
I’ve been turning that over ever since.
A year holds roughly seven stretches of 52 days. Seven opportunities to look at our lives with fresh attention. To choose something we want to practice, make room for, or finally begin.
There is something hopeful about giving ourselves a stretch of time we can imagine. Enough time to return to a practice. Have a conversation. Follow through on a desire we’ve kept postponing. Notice how often we dismiss our own knowing, and begin listening again.
As I sit with this 11/11 portal, that is the invitation I feel: to be available for a life that still has something to show me.
To bring my attention back from the things I keep replaying and ask what is here now. What wants my care. What I’m ready to participate in more fully.
Today, inside that machine, I remembered that connection can reach me in the middle of the noise. I can turn toward it before the circumstances are perfect.
Perhaps there is an opening like that in your life, too. A desire you haven’t quite let yourself take seriously. A question that keeps returning. A sense that something more is possible, even while you’re still dealing with what’s difficult.
You can give it some attention today.
And then again tomorrow.
What would you love to give these next 52 days to? What might begin to change if you returned to it with care?
I’m asking myself the same questions.
With love,
Paige11/11 · Begin Again
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