Journal of the Movement.. No. 26

 

Journal of the Movement of the World No. 26

All that fighting, all that doubting and leaning into stillness won.

Inspired by Muriel Barbery's The Elegance of The Hedgehog, which asked me to ponder these lines and create my own Journal of the Movement of the World entry:

"I'm referring to the beauty that is there in the world, things that, being part of the movement of life, elevate us. The Journal of the Movement of the World will be devoted therefore to the movement of people, bodies, or even — if really there's nothing to say — things, and to finding whatever is beautiful enough to give meaning. Grace, beauty, harmony, intensity."

I don't claim to be an intellectual; I'll let those who engage with products of my creativity decide on that. As I write this, I'm outside talking to the elements, breeze, moments, and a character I really like from this book, Renée. The breeze starts gently as I sit down on this beautifully shaded bench. First, I figure out how I'd like to sit on this bench and maintain that position for a little while. After ten minutes, my ankles pleaded with me to change their position. They were comfortable, but the bench was a hard surface to be pressed against for an extended time. So, I moved my matcha to the side, placed my book on my lap, and placed my feet on the ground. One paragraph in, the breeze got stronger, so I had to re-read the pages that started this reading session. The breeze got even stronger, so I placed the book in my lap, held onto my matcha, corrected my posture, closed my eyes, and waited to see what would happen.

In those moments when I closed my eyes, I felt the breeze through the trees, on my skin, around me, through my braids, my shoulders, my arms, and it was so beautiful on that shaded bench. When I leaned into it and opened my eyes, the breeze lifted a few branches high enough for the sunlight to hit them, reflect off the green of the leaves and onto my shades. I thought this moment would help me write a story, a character, a feeling, a place, a moment, or a monologue someday, so I urged myself to lean into it because it's writer material, it's life material. It's human material, proof of living, breathing, and feeling, and that stillness that I often talk about. There's a lightness and joy that comes with deciding not to fight the movement.

The movement of your limbs, your tongue in speech, because sometimes you need to say what needs to be said in love and let a person correct you. Let them understand what you're saying, and love you back and correct you. Let them realize that you're right, and love you even more for that. Sometimes, we fight against the movement of our whole being, of words, thoughts, feelings, and moods. Sometimes we need to correct our posture, ask the breeze to be gentle, or ask for a pause in the movement. Give yourself a few minutes, then lean into the movement that feels uncomfortable, that you're trying to prevent, and figure out what it's teaching you. What you need from it and what it needs from you.

There are so many forms of movement that we fight against in this life, and sometimes it wants to teach us something, something that is much easier learned if we don't fight. Much easier learned if we lean into it. Much easier learned if we pause for a moment. Much easier learned if we don't judge ourselves, the moment, the movement in the moment, or ourselves in the movement.

It's pushing through all of the things that almost prevented you from going outside today, fighting through all of that with tears, a snotty nose, and you didn't look so cute, but you got outside. Sometimes, we don't know what to wear; we don't know if that place we want to go, that thing we want to do, or the new thing is worth it anymore. Go outside and find out there's a seat waiting for you. The breeze is moving you to the place because they are waiting to serve you, to hand you a menu and let you take as long as it takes, as long as you need to figure out what you're going to sip on, what you're going to eat.

If you're outside like me, it's watching leaves and branches sway above your head; it's so nature can welcome you and love on you by doing its thing, allow you to be an observer and admirer. To let the breeze rush past and kiss your skin, to carry the music that proves you're alive, that proves you made it outside. To be in your most beautiful form, sat under a tree with beautifully shaped leaves.

The beauty in the world that forms part of the movement of life and elevates us gives some meaning to that unknown deadline we all have, but we must lean into it. My deadline is in good health and good service to the Most High in my job as Poet, Writer, Visionary, and Host at the Deep Thinker's Lounge. I welcome you to push into the beyond. Try not to fight the movement today, whether that's the breeze, yourself, or the movement from point A to point B.

Be gentle with yourself, like the breeze blows gently on skin, surfaces, through space, and around buildings. I think I found a reason to stay alive today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. I hope you find a reason, too.

Copyright © 2026 PebblesWroteIt

Profound Thought No. 26

Model : unknown

Profound Thought No. 26

first I looked and saw 

family like leaves, trees, fruit, root

then, a bud watered

Inspired by the book The Elegance of The Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery, translated from the French. I often break the rules when it comes to creative tasks; that's why I mostly write free verse poetry as a Poet. Because who wants syllables, meters & rhyme to limit or stop creative efforts? Who needs excuses for reduced creativity and creative activity? Not I, said the poet. For Paloma, I'll follow the rules this time, although I'm writing this piece not because of a deadline I seek (I hope that isn't insensitive) but because I'm open to a journey of learning & sharing.

I have a question: What matters to you?

I thought it would take me a while to come up with my answer for this Profound Thought, but the answer came when I saw grandparents and two grandbabies. Grandma and grandpa walking with that flyness that comes with linen fits on hot Spring days as we await Summer, and I think about the next season in the distance. Then my attention comes to both grandkids, a granddaughter and a grandson looking cute and sharp as they do in the cutest kicks and sandals; cute outfits. The answer came to me. What matters to me is generations. How we share joy, how we share wisdom, how we share knowledge, how we find value, and share those seemingly insignificant things - the moments, laughter, time. What matters to me is time between generations, not how long between the birth and growth of one and the aging of the other, and the birth of another. Not the death of one and the growing and grieving of another, but time spent. Time spent alive, time spent in conversation, time spent laughing and breaking bread and walking places, and going places. It's pouring of ourselves, everything that we have for those closest to us and those connected to our paths for as long as we can, when we can, wherever we can.

What matters to me is that we all attain our form of wealth. For some people that won't be money, for some people that won't be families, for others it will be what fulfillment looks like to you. What you achieve between sunrise and sunset, how you feel from one happy new year to the next, for others it will be the significance of Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter. What we do in each season, how we use each season, how we live, how we use the time, how we use the transitions between seasons to pour into ourselves, to learn ourselves, to refine ourselves, but more importantly to help each other grow, and help each other find themselves. How we create homes in ourselves first, then create safe spaces for others. What matters to me is that we all achieve our purpose, empty ourselves into this life from one generation to the next, and in each lifetime. And then, return to the Creator, empty, efficient, free. 

Conversations between generations are important. 'Children should be seen and not heard', a problematic statement if you ask me, a request to make the young mute while adults think, feel & talk. And so, voices die with the older generations. Knowledge, experience, wisdom, lessons learned, personal philosophies are lost; they are buried with the last generation that spoke. Conversation between the generations requires that we see each other, that we call each other by name or title (e.g., mom, ma, dad, pops, aunt, uncle, unc, etc.), that we look at each other and have those various inflections in our voices that make situations or moments memorable.

Sometimes, generations are parallel.

Sometimes the ache in our hearts is not for the kids we never had, but for the kids that surround us. In our communities, in our neighborhoods that we need to rescue from hopelessness. From feeling unworthy, from pain, from the harshness of the world that may judge or exclude them based on how they look, how they think, what they do or do not believe, where they think they can or cannot go. Sometimes, the heaviest aches in our hearts are for the things they go through that we may not always be aware of, but there's a deeper knowing that our presence means more to them than we may ever realize.

Sometimes generations are about being part of the village to help to raise somebody else's baby. To let somebody else's baby know that they have access to knowledge, wisdom, love, spaces and zones that are without judgement. Knowing they have somebody to go to when those in proximity are a little scary to approach. Sometimes generations are connected by the seemingly hard-to-understand, hard-to-connect things, but we must do what we must do. For each new day and each new moment is not promised, but the present is what we will always have, so, if you must, do it scared. If you must, do it fearful that you might be intrusive; do it regardless and be corrected later.

Copyright © 2026 PebblesWroteIt