Ram Dass said, Be here now.
Abraham suggests that we find okayness—maybe even happiness—where we are.
Spiritual teachers tell us that the peace we seek comes when we surrender to life as it is.
I was intrigued by these ideas. They seemed to promise that this is where I’d find that rainbow with the pot of gold—the peace of mind, the okay-to-be-me, the relief I’d been seeking.
But I had questions.
How can I simply be here when life sucks?
How do I endure the antics of a wandering husband, the low-paying job where I’m treated like a slave, not to mention the endless loads of laundry?
The promise of freedom from pain and suffering seemed almost too good to be true. But I couldn’t resist trying. I was at that point—I’d tried drugs, alcohol, everything to distract me from the pain. I had nothing more to lose, so I dug in.
It took some time—well, actually, years. It’s been a journey.
The other day, I found myself in tears—one of those meltdowns that makes you feel like every nerve is raw. Old hurts rose up fast, and my mind started spinning its familiar story: They said this, so it must mean that… maybe I’m not safe here… maybe I don’t belong…
But then something surprising happened. I noticed.
I noticed that what was really happening wasn’t about the present at all. I was carrying the past into this moment, wearing it like a heavy coat. And my mind was already sprinting into the future, building plans to fix, escape, or panic.
That moment of noticing—that pause—is what I mean by Presence.
Presence doesn’t mean life stops being messy or painful. It simply means I can catch myself before I get swept away. It gives me just enough space to breathe, to remember: this is now, not then. And in that space, even in my tears, there’s freedom.
In our Sunday meditation group, after a guided practice, my friend Kelli asked,
“If I’m always in the present, how do I plan supper? How do I even make a grocery list?”
We laughed—because isn’t that the question?
Presence isn’t about ignoring life or pretending responsibilities don’t exist. It’s about meeting each moment as it comes, with awareness. You can be fully present while chopping carrots for dinner or writing a grocery list. The difference is you’re not lost in yesterday’s regrets or tomorrow’s fears while you do it.
Presence is not a rule to follow. It’s an invitation—to return, again and again, to the only place love and freedom can actually touch us: here, now.
Come to the edge,” love whispers.
But I’ll fall, we answer.
Come to the edge, it says again.
And when we do—
we discover we can fly.
— Inspired by Guillaume Apollinaire
Lately, I’m beginning to understand something deeper: presence isn’t stillness alone—it’s also movement. When the heart opens wide enough, love becomes the current that moves us.
Whisper:
I move the way love asks me to move—no resistance, no hurry, only trust.