Presence isn’t always peaceful. It doesn’t always glow. Sometimes it looks like crying in your car. Sometimes it looks like forgetting how to breathe. Sometimes it looks like clenched teeth and shame.
But that’s still presence. That’s still practice.
We’ve been sold a picture. Candles. Soft voices. Aesthetic calm. Perfect peace.
But presence isn’t a look. It’s a return.
To this breath. This ache. This mess. This version of you.
Not the filtered one. Not the wise one. The real one.
Zen doesn’t care how you look. It cares if you show up.
You can sob and still be present. You can rage and still be aware. You can fall apart and still be practicing.
This isn’t about composure. It’s about contact. Contact with what’s real. With what hurts. With what’s loud inside you.
Presence is not graceful. It’s honest. Sometimes it’s trembling. Sometimes it’s hollow. Sometimes it’s ugly. And still, it counts.
You don’t have to feel calm to be awake. You don’t have to be centered to be here. You don’t have to fix it first.
Just don’t run.
Feel your chest tighten. Feel your eyes sting. Feel your pulse race. And stay.
Let yourself be human. Let yourself be messy. Let yourself be here.
You don’t owe anyone a perfect version of mindfulness. You don’t owe your pain a polished ending. You only owe yourself presence.
And presence isn’t pretty. But it’s true. And true is enough.
Enlightened Life Fellowship 