I don’t choose a word of the year. I don’t do resolutions.
Each year, on December 31, I sit down with my tea and a big pad of paper and my notebook and I dream. I begin by dreaming into the center of my own heart – my physical heart and my imaginal heart.
There, I settle into the seat of myself and I listen.
What is here with me? Is there anything I need to forgive? To release? Anything my heart wants me to know?
I turn to face the year that is coming to an end. I float my attention backward through the many experiences I’ve had, the people I’ve met. The friends I’ve made – the friends I’ve lost.
I try to offer thanks for the gifts of every single encounter – including the ones that hurt. When something feels stuck – like where I can’t seem to let it go – I forgive myself, and I forgive the stuck something. I set it in a special place in my heart, knowing that I will return to explore it again – and when I know it better, it will release, easily, naturally – because that is the way of things.
Then, I turn toward the new year and I listen forward. What dream is dreaming itself toward me? I try not to control things – or to set goals which feel too rigid. I prefer to attune myself to love and let the year unfold itself to me. I know that when I am resting in my heart, attuned to love, what unfolds before me will always be love.