4.8.15 All these years

 All these years, there were so many thoughts. Ideas. 

Now, riding the movement of life, I realize those are merely constructs. 

There is so much that is possible, that tends to be invalidated by ideas and fears and things of our own creation. 

My own clarity , impacted by tunnel vision of my own making, limiting awareness of what is. And what can be.

4.8.15 When I woke up this morning, you were on my mind

4.6.15 One quiet waiting home.

One quiet waiting home. 

One field filled with amorous, hungry Robins. One dawn breaking, then the earth turning as the sun crests the small mountain range. 

One moment after another, filled with the grace of it all.

4.3.15 Beyond Love

     Often in our lives, that which is dire arrives at our doorstep, accompanied by the handmaidens of love, of letting go, of trust.

     We, who have had lives as the ants do, the Oak and the bear. Of events, blessings, quiet sunrises and ethereal moments. Of love, affection, nourishment and tragedy. Divinely encountering each other, and our selves, as we respond and learn. As it all  takes seed, grows beneath the rains and sun and seasons. Comes to its own inimitable fruition. Dies. Time immemorial.

      And so, love is here. Within and without us. To be seen and inhaled and breathed and spoken, or remain unseen, a great good existence we may or may not retain awareness of.

     Beyond love lies this land of essence. The mundane, the paltry habits of worry and meaningless speech cast away. The uselessness of anticipation settled up on a shelf. The concern that we are not appreciating what may be the last of so very much, in the corporeal realm, left behind without a thought. For love, and what has been and shall be, becomes far too real and of such precious certainty.

      Days become essential. Learning slowly how life has always been about letting go.

     Learning about the present reality of a limited time, here, with a beloved, that we always were aware of, but never were brought up against, brings to us what matters most.

     We discover that ometimes being brought to our knees is grace itself.

     There, down on the ground, we discover that we know how to do this. That it is not about speculation or what the days may possibly hold, but about now. This moment. And then this one. As we always knew.

     And so, we and our loved ones live this moment. And the next. And next. Of course with planning. Strategy. Positioning everything as well as can be, for what may and will come into our lives.

     And then? We sit back. Breathing. Not trying. No explaining.

     Not making an effort to drink in this moment, knowing at some point there will be no more of them. Because that simply does not work. Not at all.

     Instead, we just breathe. We keep our eyes open and approach each situation the best we can. We care for each other. We care for ourselves. We become pared down to common sense and wisdom.

     We sit by the stream, following our breath, for hours. For nights, watching the moon and stars move silently across the darkened branches, the night sky.

     We observe powerful sad emotions and thoughts come up from the stream, rile through our body, wonder if we can physically survive, and learn that we can.

     Thoughts and emotions erupt and move within us and through us and we keep breathing and feeling and saying “Oh, that was such a sad thought. Emotion.” And they pass on by, moving downstream, and we catch our breath.

     With each one we are present for, that we do not avoid with activity or distraction, we land a little bit more.

     We discover the solace of what is in life right now a little bit more. We manage to become present. To follow. To trust.

      In sleepless nights, watching the stars and moon, knowing the earth is turning, is in an orbit, has been for so very long, we let go and trust. That if this is true, we can trust so much. We can let go of so much.

     We begin to realize that our whole lives have been about love. About letting go. We have been learning to move along, learning, breathing, becoming increasingly adept. Learning how and when to deeply trust.

     All that is not essential falls away. The words, the conversation, the worries, the social amenities. Somehow they no long fit at all, anywhere. We lost patience for what is not essential. We move into the essence of the life of our beloved. Of loved ones. Of ourselves.

     We haven’t a thought of being concerned for others. That they understand. There is no room, nor time. It is not essential. And we trust what is true for us.

     This is the path I accompanied, but never traveled. This is the path we imagine, we fear. Oh, but for the grace of God….

     But there is only love here. Learning and settling and the vast uncertainty we already were born and bred upon.

     And as the chaff falls away, we are left with trust. With being present. Time passes, our questions and fears and concerns slowly settle. The path not easy. But simply a version of life we already knew. Loved. Navigated. Not the unknown we feared, we turned away from in our imaginings.

     The love and letting go moving breath by breath. Grace filling each moment. Beyond love.

3.24.15 Going to ground, when the shit hits the fan

When we spend enough time being present in the present moment, and the shit hits the fan, which it does sooner or later, we just go to ground. 

We settle. It all happens by itself.

 It's like you're on a horse and the horse is wise and you give it the reins. 

You hang on for the ride, just being there, as it moves with wisdom, carrying you along. 
You ignore the trees flying by or thoughts of the future or regrets of the past, and you just ride. Immersed in this moment. And then the next. 

It is so calm, in that place. So full of love and so solid. 
That's what practicing mindfulness does when the shit hits the fan.

3.24.15 I have a feeling that when we live in villages, with the evidence of birth and death all around us, the immediacy of what is grace becomes clearer.

     Its of interest the way in which we humans, as our cultures develop, tend to trust that which we can prove, can posture, can debate in a linear fashion. Can support with what we aspire to be empirical knowledge, science. In our drive to be validated and honored, we began to leave behind the far murkier terrain of knowing within ourselves, and by that hand, are leaving behind even that capacity. The sense of life. Of others. Of ourselves.

     Time was, and still is in many places, that people had the self same sense of their lives, their health, and their approaching mortality that we have always observed in other creatures.

     Other beings know this about themselves, and prepare for what will be. Who knows if they feel grief or regret in the advent of their own demise. Their fellow creatures certainly do, something that humans used to understand, and then tragically lost.

     These days, we spend all kinds of time sharing vignettes of creatures behaving in profound ways, because we find it surprising. Amazing. Cute. Touching. Myself, I think we are in the process of remembering.

     As opposed to  just knowing well that animals have great complexity and, duh, care and feel a great deal. A sublime mixture of instinct and survival and love.

     We have this odd compulsion to go about analyzing and measuring and questioning and suspecting and assuming all sorts of erroneous things, until which time we once again disprove our very selves, and get to return to where humans were before, knowing.

     And of course, there is the fact that, with the exception of the aristocracy, for zillions of years humans saw and midwifed births of other creatures, and witnessed their illnesses or initiated their deaths. We birthed. We helped others be born. We knew death and illness intimately; not as something hidden behind curtains and distance and specialists and void of emotion.

     And sure, in some ways, the whole Kubler-Ross initiated revolution shifted and changed so much. 20 years ago there were few hospices, and people i know hired others to come be with those dying.

     I went to work on and ease the passage of many a child and adult and creature, in all those homes and nursing homes and hospitals, looking the process of dying in the face, walking down the path with so many and their loved ones.

     It is a hard thing, these experiences. They take a toll that we are not fully aware of at the moment. For, how can we be? We don't have villages and neighbors who are being born and dying next door, nor doing the butchering ourselves for our winter's repast. We fear illness and death, try hard to look the other way, and in this way spend so much of our time catching glimpses over our shoulders, wondering when Death will come.

     Which is not the deal. It isn't. The deal is to just live this moment. The funny thing is that when we live this moment and learn to calm and quiet the blah blah blah of the exhausting process of freely engaging fears and anticipation and mulling over the past withe uncertainty as to whether it merits feeling badly or not, we lose sight of both what all this does to our health. And we lose sight of what really matters.

     I have a feeling that when we live in villages, with the evidence of birth and death all around us, the immediacy of what is grace becomes clearer. And no, it's not good to romanticize anything, so we know that villages also mean being in proximity to all sorts of unfortunate situations.

     But nonetheless, here we are. In towns and cities where we can spend an entire lifetime never witnessing a birth or a death. Unless of course we slow down and calm our fears and learn to let ourselves go, in this moment we have now.

     What is amazing me right now is the way in which, when we spend a great deal of time prioritizing practicing mindfulness, it does something unrelated to our motivation to live mindfully.

     When the shit hits the fan in a big big big way, why we are all on board. We are in each and every moment. We calm and quiet speculation and regret and fears, tendering them for a moment, and then letting them do what they do best- be on their way.

     And then we relish what is, right right now. Gazing at the inimitable uniqueness of todays sunrise. Holding the hand of a dear one and simply looking into their face. That being perfectly enough.

3.24.15 I love all of this

I love the early morning hours, when the house is silent, the winds calm, the sun just making itself known along the edge of the range, of the large alive forest.

I love the masses of curled animals all about me slowly stirring, stretching legs, seeking a moment under the warm covers. Or pressing an old furred body closer to me, for an embrace. An enormous young Shepherd face appears, with a wagged tail, and all kinds of hope.

I love knowing that loved ones in other places nearby are slowly awakening, the hold of sleep loosening. That my beloved is opening their eyes, gazing out their window, greeting this moment every one of us is sharing.

I love that sometimes we stand for others, no matter how we tire. And at other times, others come and stand for us. They stand and they heal us and they show up and listen and love. They fill us with comfort as we sit in this moment, in all that it holds for us today. 

I love all of this, as we each leave our rest ,and open ourselves to the brand new day.