Sitting with Indecision

It's good to let the questions take their time.

They have a life of their own, you know. The questions, the decisions.

Oftentimes for me, that looks like letting the exuberant "yes-es" be subsumed until the nos can arise.

(I'm such a optimistic people-pleaser. For me, the yes-es always rush in first.)

Once the yes-es and the nos have had their say, the ball can skitter around the wheel until it finds the slot where its heart belongs.

Often the answer looks like neither yes or no, but wisdom.

This only happens when I sit with my answers, let them be indecision instead of reaction.

This year, the decisons that I have been most happy about were the ones where I decided to say no, even though for me, saying no takes a deeper nuance, a quieter listening.

In these days, saying no has been like a sheath of protection around my heart, like putting on lotion.

As I have said no, new opportunities for yes or no have arrived, each waiting in their turn.

And I am beginning to suspect that the wisdom lies in not yes or no, but in letting the decisions become.

Yesterday, I wrote a post in praise of following my own instincts. Does it seem counterintuitive to then say I must sit with the questions? Is being instinctual and letting decisions gradually arise from space and time a mutually exclusive practice?

Not so. Thank God, I think I can finally say not so.

If this year and this age have given me anything, it is time. The gift of not knowing, which takes me beyond yes OR no.

Because usually in the quieter listening, I can hear my own heart. I can let the pressures of circumstance fall away to find my true instinct. I can befriend myself while not letting love or concern for others go. To maintain both identity and kindness, love.

I thank God for the gift of not knowing. The wisdom that lies within the peace of open-handedness.

It is a mercy, a gift.

 Selah.