The Missed Morning Pages
This blog post wasn’t planned.
I had intended to begin the day with my morning pages—a quiet ritual I usually cherish. But the kids woke up early, buzzing with excitement. We had promised them a trip to the amusement park, so instead of writing, I was packing snacks, buckling shoes, and chasing socks.
Only now, with the house quiet and the kids finally asleep, have I found the space to reflect. And the words are flowing more easily than they ever could have this morning.
What I missed in stillness, I found in experience. My morning pages became evening pages. And they’re richer for it. Moments like this remind me that everything is perfectly timed, even when we don’t see it in the moment.
Walking as Embodied Awareness
At the park, I wore my Fivefingers—minimalist shoes that make you acutely aware of how you move. It’s a small choice, but it shaped the entire day.
In regular shoes, I tend to walk heel-first. But with these zero-drop soles, that pattern creates small vertical jolts through my body. So I adjusted. I shifted to forefoot walking—softer, smoother, gliding.
Instantly, something changed. My body stilled. I stopped bouncing. I felt anchored.
As I moved, I became aware of how many people around me were unconsciously bouncing with each step. I, by contrast, felt like I was floating just above the ground.
It wasn’t just a different gait—it was a different state of being. Walking became a kind of meditation. A way to tune into the present.
As Eckhart Tolle teaches, “The present moment is the field on which the game of life happens.” Today, that field was paved with concrete and the scent of caramel popcorn—but the presence was real.
The Park Is the Point
That sense of presence made me see the park itself differently. Theme parks are more than just entertainment—they’re living metaphors. We don’t go there to reach the exit. We go to ride. To feel. To laugh, scream, surrender, and come alive.
And interestingly, the rides we’re drawn to change with age. Kids delight in spinning cups. Teenagers crave speed and danger. Adults find joy in watching, revisiting, or simply resting in the shade.
But it’s all happening in the same park. Same space, different experiences. Different souls, different timing. And it made me wonder—maybe life works the same way.
Souls, Rides, and the View From Between Lives
At one point, I stood watching a rollercoaster from a distance. I could see the entire track—the loops, the drops, the angles. From that vantage point, it all made sense.
But I wasn’t on the ride. I wasn’t feeling it. That moment stirred something deeper.
According to regression researchers like Dolores Cannon and Michael Newton, when souls are between lives, they have clear understanding of the lessons, the relationships, the paths chosen. They can see the whole ride. But they don’t feel it. There’s no fear. No joy. No resistance. No momentum. That only happens in the body.
Here, in the ride of life, we don’t start with full understanding—but we get to fully experience. And in that experience, something shifts, deepens, evolves. We don’t come here to study the ride. We come here to ride it.
Dancing, Not Arriving
Later in the day, we re-rode a family favorite. “Didn’t we already do this?” one of the kids asked. We had. But it felt different. Because we were different. Slightly changed. Slightly more aware. It reminded me of something Alan Watts once said: “The point of the dance is the dance.” We don’t live in straight lines—we spiral.
We revisit lessons, places, and people. We hear the same chorus again, but in a new key. That’s how we grow. Not by arriving, but by dancing. Sit. Breathe. Integrate. As the sun dipped low, I found a quiet ledge by the fountains and sat for a moment. All around me, people passed—some rushing, some wandering, some simply resting.
And I remembered: Just like stepping off a ride to catch your breath, life invites us to pause now and then. To integrate. To reflect. To feel what just happened—before jumping into what’s next. As David R. Hawkins wrote, transformation often arises not from more doing, but from deeper being.
Stillness is part of the ride too.
One Park. Infinite Journeys.
As we made our way toward the exit—tired, sticky, and soulfully full—I felt a quiet gratitude rise in me. For the missed morning pages. For the floating footsteps. For the reminder that understanding isn’t required for experience to be meaningful. Wherever you are right now—riding, resting, watching, or wondering—just know:
You’re in the park. And you’re on the ride. Let yourself feel it.
Weber Strategies 