Showing up for class

I have been thinking about the concept of an inner teacher lately. This idea that there is an inherent guiding wisdom within us, an intelligence that has nothing to do with the matter that sits above our shoulders and instead resides in our very cells. In the fluid within and between. It looks like sunlight sparkling on wet sand left behind by retreating waves. It is the quiet, steady voice propelling us onward when the loud self-doubting voice of ego tells us we’re not enough.

This teacher is patient. She is forgiving. She is wise and humble and knows the answers to questions that I didn’t even realize I was asking. She teaches me about stability and impermanence, trust and resilience, lessons about what it means to listen deeply.

And at the core of it all, at the core of this inner teacher, is a deeply profound sense of grace and ease. A fluid ebb and flow that does not need me to say when and where and how. A wisdom that just is. A quiet assurance of the principles of the natural world. 

I forget about her, though, more often than I would like to admit. I run around in this world focused on my failings and ways to overcome them. I fill my days with lists of things that will prove that I deserve to be here, that I am contributing in some way to this human existence. I forget this inner teacher that already knows all of this, already knows what my work is in this world and what I am doing here. I forget, but she is forgiving of my egoic flaws. When I forget all of this, all I have to do is show up for class.

Show up. Quit passing notes, quiet the internal and external chatter, sit down and listen. And that is enough. That is everything.