My office window opens to the Sonoma Mountains in the distance. On a cloudy day like today, the treetops are hazy. Last year, there was snow. In California!
And it’s the perfect place for afternoon rainbows during the rainy, foggy months.
The sun travels from behind the building, through raindrops and mist, and I can predict the exact arc of color, from the faint beam to my left to the tall bow that grows/glows up into the blue sky and onto the trees to the right.
The tops of the trees become golden right before.
The colors last for about 20 minutes. And I take pictures again and again, trying to find the right arrangement of bow and sky. As though capturing it on my camera might keep its magick closer.
I will never touch a rainbow.
It’s an optical illusion because it doesn’t really exist anywhere, but rather it exists when the viewer is in the right place at the right time.
And so too am I.
Sometimes.
When I stop to notice. When I put down the camera and the other ways I capture what is right in front of me. When I just watch and become present.
Colors tumble into each other. Until they don’t.
The Long Arc of Intuition / Trusting Oneself
I don’t remember when I knew what a rainbow felt like. I can’t recall the first time I saw one, but I can remember every moment when the colors stretched across the sky right as I made an important decision.
Right when I wondered if I was making the best choice.
Right after I took a chance on something.
Confirmation by color. A wide arc of trust.
I have run out of rooms to find the rainbow I could feel. I haven’t always succeeded in my chases. Sometimes, I have been left wondering if I had just left a few minutes earlier, would I have found what I was looking for?
(What was looking for me?)
Intuition begins with trust. I have to trust that my ‘rainbow feeling’ is true.
I have to trust that the quickening of my heart is not an old story trying on my current heartbeat.
I have to trust that I am hearing myself and hearing beyond myself.
And my intuition needs to trust me.
So I listen. I take note of what I feel and what happens next. I see patterns and make predictions. I survey my body to see what parts ache and twist and tremble and unclench.
I feel. I listen. I allow.
I make no promises and no stories and no plans.
I feel. I listen. I allow.
Listening to my intuition is challenging when I focus to much on what it means, what I need to do, or how important the message is.
When my brain starts sketching out plans, I become lost in the details. And I forget how to trust what is, rather than what might be next.
Like a rainbow. I trust what it is, not how bright it will get or how big it will be or how long it will last.
I have nothing to do with that.
In fact, there is nothing to DO in these moments.
I watch, smile, maybe take ‘too many’ pictures.
I feel. I listen. I allow.
I feel it all. I feel without scripting the next step.
I feel what is true in that moment. And only that moment.
I learn to trust the feeling, how to listen to it, maybe locate it in my body, how to let it know it is heard, held, and cherished.
And in those moments, I learn to trust myself.
When that happens, the next step is always the best step, a step of my own creation and conjuring.
I am not chasing something in the distance, something untouchable—I am reaching for what is already inside me, what already knows.
And I bow down to that wisdom.
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And yeah, this isn’t just about rainbows.
It never was.
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To learn more about my books, my writing, my classes, and more, go here: www.irisanyamoon.com.
What a shot! There have been so many in the last few weeks!