There is something most of us carry.
It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t insist.
It simply waits, the way unread letters wait in a drawer — patient, present, quietly asking.
This month, I have been sitting with a question:
What have I decided not to look at?
Not because the answer is dramatic. In my experience, it rarely is.
But because March has a way of asking us inward before it calls us out.
Before the garden, there is the inner room. Before the bloom, there is the clearing.
We are good at busy.
We are good at managing.
Most of us have spent years learning how to keep moving — and there is real strength in that. But strength sometimes looks like stillness. Like sitting long enough to hear what the quieter parts of us have been whispering while we were occupied elsewhere.
I think of it as a window that only opens inward.
There is no outside view. No grand revelation. Just the honest, unhurried noticing of what is already there — already us — already asking for a little air.
You do not need to act on everything you see.
Sometimes the act of seeing is enough.
Sometimes turning the latch — just that — is the whole of the practice.
“Before spring asks anything of the garden, it asks something of the soil.”
This month at Soul Sanctuary, we are making space for the inward turn.
For the questions that arrive without fanfare in the early morning.
For the parts of ourselves that have been waiting, patiently, to be met with kindness rather than urgency.
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