The Prism
On slowing down, trusting timing, and leaving room for life to surprise us
One of my favorite parts of being in New York City is taking the subway.
That may sound strange if you’ve ever been squeezed into a crowded train at rush hour, but there is something about being carried from one place to another with nowhere else to be that I love.
It’s one of the few places where I consistently read.
Reflect.
Observe.
Think.
For the last couple of weeks, I’ve finally settled into a book that had been sitting patiently in my reading queue for months: The Lotus and the Lily by Janet Conner.
You know how certain books seem to arrive before you’re ready for them?
The book had been waiting.
And apparently so had I.
One passage in particular stayed with me.
Janet suggests placing a prism in your home as a reminder to notice the light.
To pay attention to beauty.
To witness the ordinary becoming extraordinary.
The idea lodged itself somewhere inside me.
And that’s when I noticed something fascinating.
How quickly a suggestion can become a desire.
Someone mentions a supplement.
A skincare product.
A book.
A restaurant.
A meditation cushion.
A prism.
And suddenly the mind gets busy.
We are spongey creatures, aren’t we?
Absorbing ideas, inspirations, desires, and possibilities from one another all day long.
Years ago, the next part would have been automatic.
Open Etsy.
Find a prism.
Click purchase.
Wait for delivery.
Instead, I found myself becoming curious.
Curious about the wanting.
Curious about the space between hearing about something and immediately acquiring it.
Curious about what happens when we leave a little room between the desire and the fulfillment.
So I began looking.
A crystal shop in New York.
Then another.
I found several prisms.
They were beautiful.
Yet none of them felt like mine.
After leaving the second shop, a thought landed inside me:
I’ll find the prism in Nicaragua.
There was no logic behind it.
Just a quiet knowing.
If you’d like to continue the conversation, come a little closer.
