just be it Just Be It is a practice of presence that recognizes the limits of language. When aware of silence there is a state of inner still alertness. You are wholeheartedly present.

Choosing to embrace the sunrise with gratitude rather than digital distraction fosters a more peaceful and intentional daily existence.

While birds naturally greet the dawn with song, humans often default to checking digital devices. This immediate immersion in global conflict or outrage shapes our mental state negatively from the start. By choosing to mirror the avian instinct for wonder, we can consciously shift our mindset before our feet even hit the floor.

Cultivating Mindful Presence

Adopting a bird-like perspective encourages us to prioritize belonging over complaint. We can transform our daily experience through intentional shifts in perspective:

• Shifting narratives: Move from the burden of “I have to be here” to the genuine gift of “I get to be here.”
• Practicing presence: Acknowledge the current day as an opportunity rather than an obligation.
• Limiting consumption: Reduce exposure to negative external information to preserve inner calm.

Ultimately, we have the agency to decide how we begin our day. By replacing cycles of anxiety with moments of appreciation, we honor the gift of existence, much like the rhythmic, grounding songs of the morning birds.

The Birds Know

God told the birds to greet the morning with song.

Before the traffic begins, before the headlines arrive, before the endless stream of opinions and distractions fills the air, the birds begin their daily service. They gather in the trees, on rooftops, along shorelines, and in the fields, welcoming another day.

The loon calls across the water, inviting us to wake up. The dove offers its gentle song of peace. The chickadee chatters with enthusiasm. And the robin, perhaps the most diligent of them all, is often the first to sing at sunrise and the last to sing at sunset.

For those willing to listen, they offer a daily lesson.

They do not begin their day by focusing on what is wrong. They do not gather to complain about yesterday. They do not rehearse their grievances or argue over who deserves blame. They simply participate in the miracle of another dawn.

Many of us have developed a different ritual. We wake and immediately reach for a device. Within moments, our minds are flooded with stories of conflict, disaster, outrage, scandal, and fear. We are invited to focus on everything that is broken, everything that threatens us, and everything that demands our attention.

There is value in being informed, but there is also danger in beginning each day by feeding dissatisfaction.

What we put our attention on grows stronger.

When we start the morning with complaint, complaint grows. When we start with fear, fear grows. When we start with gratitude, gratitude grows. Attention is nourishment. It feeds whatever we place before it.

The birds seem to understand this instinctively. Their first act is not complaint but participation. Not resistance but expression. Not fear but song.

Each morning they remind us that we have a choice.

We can begin the day with “I have to be here,” or we can begin with “I get to be here.”

One path leads toward dissatisfaction and scarcity. The other leads toward appreciation and enoughness.

The birds are calling us back to the second path.

Their message is simple:

Wake up.

Be here.

Listen.

Sing your song.

And give thanks for another day.

I’m not sure whether my writings will fit or work for you. I simply put them out into the world with the intention of sharing what has fit and worked for me as I navigate the river of life.

For more than 30 years I’ve maintained a daily writing practice. I’m deeply grateful for the recent emergence of AI tools that have helped me organize many of these reflections and writings.

These projects now exist in several forms. The books are available through Amazon Kindle ebook and paperback editions, and I’ve used AI and Speechify to help create audio versions in my own synthesized voice, which are available on YouTube.

If the timing fits and you feel drawn to have a look, I appreciate your attention. If it doesn’t, no worries at all.

My hope is simple: if you happen to find something here that works for you as it has for me, then these projects have been worthwhile.

With gratitude,

Randy Johnson

YouTube Channel: Just Be It – Randy Johnson

Is my political or religious affiliation in service to healing or hurting? Does it move me toward greater unity or deeper division? Does it help me reduce suffering, or does it lead me to justify collateral damage in the name of a cause?

Every political and religious tradition contains people who sincerely seek compassion, justice, and human flourishing. Likewise, every tradition can also become attached to identity.

The deeper question isn’t, “Which side am I on?” but rather:

• Does this make me more curious or more certain?
• Does it expand my capacity to listen?
• Does it reduce fear and increase belonging?
• Does it help me see the humanity of those who disagree with me?
• Does it leave less suffering in its wake?

If the answer is yes, then the affiliation may be serving healing. If it consistently produces contempt, dehumanization, or indifference to collateral harm, then it deserves honest examination, regardless of whether it is political, religious, or ideological.

The true measure of any belief system is not the certainty of its doctrine, but the wake it leaves behind. Does it leave people more whole or more wounded? More connected or more divided? More capable of love or more consumed by fear? Wisdom asks us to look not at what we profess to believe, but at the consequences of how we live those beliefs.

That shifts the focus from defending an identity to examining the fruits of one’s practice.

Attention is a non-neutral, active force that functions as the primary architect of our personal reality and collective experience. When we focus our cognitive energy on a specific subject, we effectively provide it with the fuel necessary for growth. Because our mental resources are finite, what we choose to observe ultimately defines the quality of our inner state and our broader perspective on the world. By recognizing that attention is energy, we can begin to treat our focus as a precious, non-renewable resource that requires careful management and conscious direction.

The Competition for Mental Energy

The human mind is inherently susceptible to distractions that thrive on negative emotions. Certain forces, described here as parasites, actively compete for our engagement, often drawing us toward states of fear, resentment, or greed. This competitive environment for our focus makes it easy to lose sight of the present moment.

• The Displacement Effect: High-profile figures or volatile media cycles often dominate public discourse, creating a form of mental myopia that obscures the tangible beauty and immediate responsibilities in our daily lives.
• The Cost of Neglect: When we surrender our attention to external dramas, we sacrifice the opportunity to notice the subtle, nourishing aspects of existence, such as nature, personal connection, and the quiet work of self-improvement.

Cultivating Intentionality and Wisdom

Wisdom is found in the ability to audit where our focus rests at any given time. By consciously pairing our attention with clear, constructive intentions, we regain sovereignty over our mental landscape. This process of intentional living is not about total control over external stimuli, but rather about choosing how we respond to the information we receive.

1. Self-Reflection: Begin by asking if your current focal point fosters deeper understanding or merely amplifies division and anxiety.
2. Conscious Redirection: Identify when your mind has been captured by destructive loops and proactively pivot toward themes of compassion, stewardship, and gratitude.
3. Persistent Practice: Recognize that the discipline of focus is a repetitive habit that requires constant refinement rather than a one-time achievement.

The Path to Wholeness

True freedom exists within the narrow margin of choice we have regarding where to direct our awareness. While we cannot dictate every event that enters our field of vision, we possess the autonomy to decide which elements we choose to nurture. By consistently withdrawing our energy from the parasitic influences of fear and redirecting it toward growth-oriented values, we actively construct a more balanced and meaningful life.

Ultimately, this practice is both simple and remarkably demanding. It asks that we remain vigilant in our awareness, noticing when our focus drifts and gently returning it to the pursuits that cultivate wholeness. Through the repeated act of choosing where to place our energy, we transform our lived experience from one of reactive volatility into one of deliberate, intentional purpose, ensuring that our inner life is nourished rather than depleted.

What fits you? What works for you? What do you vow to serve?

Our daily practices become the foundation upon which the quality of our lives is built. We become what we repeatedly do, think, and attend to. The small choices made each day—how we greet the morning, how we care for our bodies, what we feed our minds, how we speak to others, and what we do with our attention—quietly shape our character and our experience of the world.

It is easy to be devoted without realizing it. Some devote themselves to worry. Some to accumulation. Some to complaint, distraction, or the endless pursuit of approval. Others devote themselves to awareness, gratitude, compassion, creativity, stewardship, and healing.

The question is not whether we are devoted. The question is: To what are we devoted?

Wisdom asks us to pay attention to the results. Does the practice increase fear or diminish it? Does it create separation or belonging? Does it nourish vitality or drain it? Does it contribute to healing or to hurting?

Over time, life provides feedback. Certain practices leave us feeling more grounded, more present, more connected. Other practices leave us anxious, divided, exhausted, or dissatisfied. Wisdom is the willingness to notice the difference and to move toward what fits and what works.

Perhaps this is why daily practice matters so much. It is less about achieving some distant goal and more about cultivating a way of being. Day after day, breath after breath, we are shaping the person we become.

What are you practicing today?

What seeds are you watering?

What do you vow to serve?

The answers to these questions may reveal the direction of your life more clearly than any belief, opinion, or ambition ever could.

I’m not sure whether my writings will fit or work for you. I simply put them out into the world with the intention of sharing what has fit and worked for me as I navigate the river of life.

For more than 30 years I’ve maintained a daily writing practice. I’m deeply grateful for the recent emergence of AI tools that have helped me organize many of these reflections and writings.

These projects now exist in several forms. The books are available through Amazon Kindle ebook and paperback editions, and I’ve used AI and Speechify to help create audio versions in my own synthesized voice, which are available on YouTube.

If the timing fits and you feel drawn to have a look, I appreciate your attention. If it doesn’t, no worries at all.

My hope is simple: if you happen to find something here that works for you as it has for me, then these projects have been worthwhile.

With gratitude,

Randy Johnson

YouTube Channel: Randy Johnson (just be it)

The trumpet has been one of my finest teachers. What may appear to others as simply an instrument of brass and valves has, for me, become a doorway to awareness, discipline, humility, and joy. Over time I came to understand that the deepest value of playing was not performance alone, but what the practice itself asked of me.

A trumpet does not respond well to confusion. It reveals tension quickly. It exposes shallow breath, poor posture, impatience, and divided attention. It asks for alignment. To produce a centered tone, the body must come upright, balance must be found, and the breath must move freely. The mind cannot be scattered in ten directions. Presence is required.

This is where trumpet becomes awareness practice.

Before the first note, there is preparation. I stand tall. I feel my feet on the earth. I notice the spine lengthen and the shoulders soften. I become aware of the breath entering and leaving. Already the practice has begun, even before sound appears.

Then comes the tone.

A sustained note teaches more than many words can teach. It asks for steadiness without rigidity. It asks for strength without strain. It asks for listening. The ear must meet the sound honestly. The body must make subtle adjustments. Awareness becomes intimate and immediate.

Long tones became meditation for me.

As the air moves through the horn, thought often quiets. Complaint softens. Regret and anticipation lose their grip. There is only this breath, this vibration, this note in this room. The trumpet rewards full attention. It does not care about yesterday’s mistakes or tomorrow’s plans. It asks only for sincerity now.

Yet there is another dimension that may be the deepest of all: the trumpet is largely a nonverbal instrument. It carries us beyond the world of explanation, argument, labels, and concepts. Words divide experience into categories. Sound reunites what thought has separated.

When fully engaged with the horn, the verbal mind often surrenders. The endless narrator grows quiet. There is no need to describe the breath, only to breathe it. No need to define the tone, only to become it. No need to explain rhythm, only to enter it.

In such moments, the boundaries we normally defend begin to soften.

Breath moves through body, body moves through instrument, instrument moves through air, air moves through listener. Where does one end and the other begin? What seemed separate reveals itself as participation in one living process. This is why music can feel sacred. It briefly restores us to wholeness.

The trumpet, tied intimately to breath, makes this especially clear. Breath is life entering and leaving. Tone is breath made audible. Awareness is breath consciously met. When these come together, one can taste a kind of unity consciousness—not as belief, but as direct experience.

Even silence becomes teacher.

The space between notes is not empty. It is alive with timing, patience, and wisdom. Many play too much, speak too much, rush too much. Music reminds us that space gives meaning to sound. Silence gives shape to tone. Rest gives value to movement. In life as in music, the pause is often as important as the action.

There is humility in the practice as well. Some mornings the tone is rich and open. Other mornings it feels stubborn. The trumpet teaches me not to cling to either experience. Show up, breathe, listen, adjust, continue. This too is awareness.

Over years of practice I found that trumpet playing improved not only my musicianship, but my way of meeting life. I became more aware of posture while walking, breath while speaking, tension while reacting, and tone while communicating. I saw that harshness in speech resembles harshness in sound. I saw that calm breath improves both conversation and music.

The horn became mirror.

When approached in this way, practice is no longer merely rehearsal for performance. Practice becomes performance of presence itself. Each tone is an opportunity to meet the moment wholeheartedly. Each phrase becomes training in balance. Each breath becomes gratitude.

The true gift of the trumpet may not be the notes we play for others. It may be the awareness it draws forth within us.

Pick up the horn.

Stand upright.

Breathe deeply.

Let thought soften.

Honor the space between notes.

And let the music teach you how to live

I’m not you, and you’re not me. I haven’t lived your experiences, and you haven’t lived mine.

We’ve been shaped by different hands, different moments, different encounters. From this, we each build a map. And no two maps are the same.

So let’s bow— in humility—to the vastness of the territory. To the truth of what we don’t know.

From this place, it makes sense to meet with curiosity. To listen for the life behind the words. To soften our grip on conclusions, beliefs, and judgments— not because they don’t exist, but because they are always incomplete.

Often, in our insecurity, we try to change one another— hoping agreement will make us feel more solid. But real grounding doesn’t come from shared opinion. It comes from refuge. From bowing to something greater— to Grace, to the living territory beyond our maps.

What if we stopped trying to win each other over? What if we simply met— in silence first? Breath by breath. Recognizing our shared humanity. Touching what is sacred— the air, the water, the land— and committing, at the very least, to not cause harm.

When I explore what makes a life well lived, I return to a simple lens: healthy, finding refuge, and wise.

I’m curious about your health— how you care for the body entrusted to you. Not as something you own, but as something sacred.

I’m curious about where you find refuge— what allows you to rest, what brings a sense of enough, what quiets the reaching for more.

And most of all, I’m curious about your wisdom— what truly fits, what has worked over time, what you return to each day because it brings a steady sense of peace. That’s what matters. Not where your thinking has settled, but where your living has proven true.

Show me what works— what sustains you without causing harm. And in that sharing, perhaps we meet on common ground far deeper than agreement. A place where we can both rest— in humility, in curiosity, in refuge— bowing to Grace, to mystery, to this precious moment— and simply, just be

When we speak from our own experience, we step onto less violent ground.

We can say,

“This is what fits me.”

“This is what works for me.”

There is no demand in that.

No pressure.

Just an offering.

But when we push another to believe what we believe, something tightens.

The space between us narrows.

And beneath that effort, there is often a subtle form of violence—the wish to shape another in our image.

To remove another’s freedom, even gently, is still to move against life.

Sharing experience invites.

Persuasion pressures.

One opens a door.

The other leans on it.

Perhaps the deeper practice is this:

to speak honestly from what we have lived,

and to trust that truth does not need force to be heard