(No)vember.

Making Room to Receive.

Sometimes the most important no is the one we say to our need to know.

Surrender is not the abandonment of responsibility. It is the release of our insistence on controlling what follows.

Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.

(Thích Nhất Hạnh, Plum Village)

We prepare to welcome November and with it, an invitation disguised as a play on words.

(No)vember.

A time to say no to people, places and things that drain our energy. 

No to what diminishes us. No to what exhausts us. No to what no longer serves us.

It sounds simple enough. 

But what if the invitation is not so much about what we must reject, as about what we are finally ready to receive?

Last weekend, sitting in Satsang, I received un apapacho al alma. 

There was something ancient and maternal in that embrace. 

Something shifted. Something was recalibrated. Something in me became available to what comes next. 

An experience I cannot fully describe, much less explain.

And with that embrace came three simple instructions: Trust. Surrender. Receive.

Along with a gentle reminder: Do not bother trying to understand. You might not believe it anyway.

I followed that guidance. Not because I understood, but because, for once, understanding was not being asked of me.

Meanwhile, Life continued.

Changes that could no longer be postponed. Difficult conversations. Responsibilities that still needed to be met.

There were things that needed to be said and things that needed to be done. And no amount of surrender would make them disappear.

Perhaps that is precisely the teaching: Surrender is not the opposite of action.

We can trust what is unfolding while doing what is ours to do.

We can release our attachment to outcomes without abandoning our responsibility for the choices we make.

We can say no without withdrawing our love.

And yes without surrendering our sovereignty.

Our feelings come and go. They are part of our experience, but they do not define who we are.

Beneath their movement, there is something that remains.

I am peace. I am love. Grounded in Mother Earth. Connected to Father Sky. Centred in the Heart. With a clear vision, an open heart and a clear mind.

Through these days, I have also been reminded of the extraordinary gift of companionship.

Our eldest son beside me, each of us playing his part.

The omnipresence of my beloved, holding me from afar.

A family learning, each in its own way, to accompany one another without taking over each other's journeys.

We do not have to carry everything to care for everyone. Nor must we understand everything to be present for what is happening.

Sometimes the greatest offering we can make is simply to remain available.

And as November arrives, we honour those who walked before us.

During Día de Muertos, flowers, candles and offerings become gestures of remembrance and welcome.

We make room for our ancestors, for those who have returned home, and for the love that continues to connect us across generations.

Even in their absence, we remain held by what they have given us.

And now, as we prepare to return to our Island, we feel less inclined to decide how the remaining year should unfold.

There is much still in motion. There always will be.

Perhaps November is not the month to say no to Life. 

It is the month to stop saying yes to everything that keeps us from living it.

No to what is no longer ours to carry.

No to postponing what requires our attention.

No to the demand that we understand everything before allowing ourselves to receive.

And perhaps, eventually, no more resisting the Life that is already here.

Surrender. Our relationship with control.

Trust. Our relationship with the unknown.

Receive. Our relationship with Life.

Three relationships. Three invitations. One movement.

From resisting what is, to becoming available for what comes.

Not a month of refusals.

A month of availability.

May we find the wisdom to recognise what is ours to do, the courage to release what is not, and the grace to welcome what we cannot yet understand.

May every flower, candle and offering illuminate the path of those who have returned home and may peace prevail among us all.

Yo lo Creo / I believe, and so it is.