In the morning a heron flies, buffeted by winds, bent south with an intensity I rarely associate with herons in flight. It is good to leave, but good to see that there is nothing to leave too. Teachers abound when we open to them, and in that way - that openness - the real teacher can at last step forward to instruct us.
Lately, studying the backyard rose bush, sneaking coffee on long drives, and putting away my books, I realize what a fool I am. Or have been? It doesn't matter is what you learn, at least not the way you want it to.
The work is not to perfect ourselves but rather to perceive without judgment that which hinders awareness of our natural perfection. There are no past lives - only this life in myriad forms no one of which is beholden to time! Become aware of that to which you attach and love it the way you love butterflies because why not?
Hours punctuated now by bunnies, seven of them scurrying through the side yard to nibble dandelion, tumble over stones, and drink from the gutter extensions. At dinner we fuss over translations and practice our Greek. Maybe it was never about writing at all . . .
Well, before dawn the brook percolates, and from the early light a preferred teacher does step forward. Let me not be torn asunder! And yet I was, and will be, and thus the inevitable spiritual seamstress attends, efficient and whistling, unimpressed with injuries she sees all the time, no matter how eloquently I talk them up.
Broken robin's eggs, deceased moles, all of which I bury at the garden's edge near marigolds. Bizarre - and apparently immune to alteration - sleep habits cannot undo the rest offered by God. I wake to write, and write to wake, and try not to get too worked up about when.
On the other hand, there does seem to always be another hand. I mean attentive bluets, I mean forget-me-nots as you go.
What a beautiful post! So poetic indeed. I love this: "The work is not to perfect ourselves but rather to perceive without judgment that which hinders awareness of our natural perfection. There are no past lives – only this life in myriad forms no one of which is beholden to time! Become aware of that to which you attach and love it the way you love butterflies because why not?"ReplyDelete
Indeed there are no past lives. We begin to see this when our awareness becomes more and more expanded. I've stopped beating myself up. I am so much happier just b-e-i-n-g ..... no rush ... wow! that is so blissful. I watch my dog enjoying a good scratch while I wait for him to walk him and he will not be hurried indeed! I've learned so much from him. I watch the trees and plants all around me as they do or don't do their thing and I feel such a deep sense of calm ... aaahhhh!!! what bliss ......... just these thoughts are intoxicating .... hmmm ....
Thank you Sean! Thank you for the this moment of Heaven!
I'm so happy to hear from you today, Lavina . . . things are rainy and busy in my corner of the world . . . yes, dogs are lovely teachers - as are flowers and trees and the moon . . . maybe attention is the teacher? I don't know. I share entirely your sense of intoxication with being - it is enough at times merely to be aware of life as it flows and pulses within and without us . . . what a quiet and serious and natural joy and how little we have to do to perceive and extend it . . .ReplyDelete
I'm always happy to pop up on your website Sean! Its raining cats and dogs in my part of the world. Each day is a GIFT and I am so happy we can each share the Gift in our own way. Bless you. Regards, L :)))ReplyDelete