She declared that she found her bearings when she became lost. Strange that. In the storm at sea, with the night sky blotted out, you are alone, lashed by freezing waves. No point in raging against the thunder. You are hardly even a dot in the gun grey night of the universe. No matter how hard you try to get that perspective, the fear is writ large; finding the courage to carry on almost seems impossible. And then you are reminded: Wisdom says you are nothing. Compassion says you are everything. Such a thought is a homecoming of sorts.
Sitting, loving what is, I am not entirely convinced. Circling, before the dive in. The deep dive in. The lived life, the examined life. If you want reality to be different than it is, she laughs, you might as well teach a cat to bark. It then comes to me. The world is larger because of this. When you walk into a room and everyone agrees on something, you know that someone is hiding something or there is something you don't see. We don't need prophets for telling the future, because they are trying to change the present, he says. With this, like the poet says, the coating of dead dust falls from the windows. The old ways of seeing - habits really - are broken. We walk along the seafront, the meadowing path breathes with wildlife. The unexamined stories are airlifted away by butterflies and the thought of what the wise woman said: you are the one that can end your suffering. Sitting still, loving the world as it is, making friends with the wind.
Inspired by John O’Donohue, Byron Katie, Omar Ghobash and Shane Claiborne.
It came to me, landing on the soft spot, to stop Getting in my own way. It is the place that I stand when My feet are sore, to return here: 'No one can do more harm, neither a thief or a hater, More than your own untrained mind.' To meet this moment fresh, this invitation to Circle back to the idea that 'no one can do more benefit, More good, neither a friend, nor a lover, your parents, than your Well-trained and well-directed mind,' Opening up your wildness and your immensity.
Your best is not good enough, he lectured Usually after several stiff brandies. Outside, the Christmas beetles sang in chorus in The evening African heat. It was a life-time ago and, I suppose, to him he thought, meant to be helpful. Yet, even now, it is difficult to excavate the enormity Of what not good enough meant. Strangely, looking back, it was The wildness of the beetle song sung in tune to the darkening sun that Somehow kept me safe and enough.
The first day of June and the sky a deep blue - mixed in the master's workshop, coloured with some white of clouds - pouring sunlight on the daisy covered green. The present has dropped into my skin and bones and I breathe in my wildness.
Butterflies do the heavy lifting on Days like these. They take us - in an instant - out of ourselves. Dancers, a splash of colour Travellers on this road, lightening Days like these.
Inspired by AllysoAlly