Presence And A Ponderosa Pine

A Portal Into Wholeness

Sep 24, 2024

Presence And A Ponderosa Pine

If I long to be the kind of person in whose presence others feel comfortable showing up as themselves - and I do - then I must first give myself the same gift. I cannot offer to others what I haven’t learned to cultivate within myself. One of the ways I’m learning to be more present to myself is by courting presence—inviting it, protecting it, and cherishing it. It’s about embracing moments, allowing the minutes to open up, and listening gently without rushing to fill the space or chase results or productivity.

If I want to be a safe harbor for others—and I do—I must first practice visiting that safety within myself. Can I rest in my own company, feeling held and whole just as I am? Can I sit with myself without the pressure to achieve, learn, create, or do? Can I simply be?

The short answer is yes—I can. And it takes paying attention and practice.

Even so, I’ve come to realize that both stillness and expression are necessary for presence. It’s not a matter of choosing one or the other but learning to honor both. I need the stillness to be fully present with myself, free from any agenda but love. But I also need to give voice to what I discover in those moments of stillness, allowing that energy to move outward into creative expression. It’s another both/and situation. I’ve realized that I need both the stillness to be fully present with myself and the movement of energy that comes through self-expression.

Writing allows me to sit with my inner landscape, describing it, bringing presence to it, and letting presence flow through it. It might sound abstract, even like gibberish, but it’s the closest I’ve come to putting this process into words. It feels like a dance between simply being and self-expression.

I’m currently midway through the second draft of my memoir—a marathon, to say the least—and it has become its own portal into this both/and dynamic. On the one hand, I crave the space to simply sit with myself, to release the pressure of doing, and fall into the embrace of Love, allowing myself to simply be. On the other hand, there’s a deep yearning to share what emerges from the knowing and unknowing of that stillness to move into becoming. This is not to say that I sit in meditation or prayer with the end goal of creating something, but rather that being and expressing seem to flow into and support one another in a continuous circle. One feeds the other, allowing me to practice presence more fully in everything I do, in stillness and in action, alone and with others.

That’s really the heart of it, isn’t it?

It’s not a new concept. It’s about inhabiting each moment as fully as I am able, at any given moment, without needing to change it, and letting it lead me naturally into the next moment. Whether that means more stillness or wild and active creation, I trust the rhythm.

The act of being present with myself is an act of faith. It requires trusting that the moment I’m inhabiting is enough, that I am enough within it. This faith - which at its core simply means a way of seeing - is built slowly, gently, in the pauses between breaths, in the space between thoughts. And as this faith grows, so does my capacity to offer my presence to others—not as a performance, not as a mask of togetherness, but as a true and spacious offering. When I show up for myself with honesty, I can show up for others in the same way.

Presence is, in its essence, an act of love. It’s the willingness to sit with the unknowns, the messiness, the beauty, and the stillness that exists within me without needing to force them into neat boxes. It’s the ability to be with myself as I am and, in doing so, create the kind of space where others feel safe to be as they are.

And isn’t that what we all need? A place where we are welcomed as whole—where we are not broken down into our achievements or failures but seen as the fullness of our becoming. A place where presence is enough. Where our presence is our most sacred offering.

This is the gift I seek to give myself: the ability to meet each moment as it comes, to let it open me up, to let it surprise me, and to see myself through the eyes of love. And as I practice this, I find that I am more able to meet others with that same spaciousness, that same love. I become a reflection of the safety and acceptance I have found within.

In the end, presence is the portal to wholeness. It is the doorway through which I learn to love myself and, in turn, offer love to the world. Each moment, whether filled with stillness or creation, is part of a larger, unfolding dance—a dance that teaches me to trust, to love, and to be.

And this, I believe, is the most powerful offering I can make: to be fully present to myself and others in love as we all navigate the shared journey toward wholeness.

***

Let me share a story with you. Have I told you about the Ponderosa tree I visit? When we first moved to Colorado, I discovered a natural space with various trails. It's not hard to come by in Colorado. One trail descends into an open space where prairie dogs scurry and chirp as they rush to their burrows, but the one that speaks to me ascends beneath a canopy of Ponderosa Pines. It’s the trail I return to most often, and midway up, there’s a boulder where I pause to sit beneath a particular Ponderosa tree. I call her Mama Ponderosa because her sap smells like vanilla. On a hot summer day, her shade, her welcoming scent, and her steady presence offer solace. I often hug her, pressing my cheek against her rugged bark, grateful for her silent support as I send it back to her.

Mama Ponderosa has become a living metaphor for what I’m learning about presence. She stands tall and steady, embodying stillness—offering comfort without needing to do anything but exist. It is more than enough. In her presence, I don’t feel the pressure to perform or achieve. I can just be. Yet she also expresses herself in beautiful ways. Her sweet vanilla scent wafts through the air, welcoming anyone who passes by. Her branches sway and rustle in the wind, creating a natural song that shifts with each breeze. Even the way her needles catch the sunlight, casting dappled shadows on the ground, speaks to her quiet expression of life. She doesn’t strain to create beauty—it simply flows from her being.

Her bark, rugged and textured, tells the story of her years of weathering storms and standing strong through seasons of change. The small cones that fall from her branches and the sap that seeps from her trunk are signs of her continual cycle of giving and renewal. She shows me that presence isn’t just about stillness but about embracing the natural ebb and flow of expression—allowing ourselves to move, to share, to respond to the world. She expresses her nature fully, reminding me that true presence is a balance of being and becoming, resting and responding, stillness and expression.

In that balance, I’m learning to do the same—to root myself in love, embracing both the calm and the flow, the stillness and the expression, letting presence support and nourish me and, and by extension, others.

xo Mary

3 THINGS WORTH SHARING:

Worried - by Mary Oliver
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
Sacred Threshold: Crossing the Inner Barrier to a Deeper Love by Paula D’Arcy.
“Paula D'Arcy talks about some of the sacred crucibles in her life—moments when life took her to places she'd never anticipated and asked her to yield to things that could not be changed. The book includes her story of Morrie Schwartz, of Tuesdays with Morrie, and of the relationship they forged in the final eighteen months of his life. As Morrie wrestled with his imminent death, they both grew to feel a keen sense of their common humanity and a responsibility to give back to this world by helping others discover all that's possible in their lives. This story, and others gathered here, radically challenges one’s understanding of love.” - Amazon
3. This playlist is what I’ve been writing to lately in my early morning journaling.

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