has it really been over a year since i've taken the time to write?

so be it...

so be it. 

and this has been my learning: what is, is. 

nothing can change that. 

and what is - to me, to you - is completely self-determined, completely subjective. 

a play unfolding. the mind - director, actor, stage hand, and prop. 

we are the designers of our reality, highlighting the edges of that which we deem real, letting all other possibilties, at once part of the whole, now recess into the back ground and dissolve. 

and we declare! this is my lot in life! look at my truth!

as if we have no choice in the matter!

what a sham. tricky mind. 

and yet, i play the game. 

my saving grace is a quiet heart that sees and gently smiles. with equal parts honor and empathy, she accepts the lot of my busy brain. loving all of it, but reacting to none.

well, at least today. right now. and now.

and that, for me, is, what is.

We struggle to decipher the complexies of life. Human relationships ~ old wounds, new wounds. But our greatness isn't in the figuring. It isn't in the math.

We are such busy beings! There is a seductive comfort in the figuring. We seem built for it ~ our minds wrap around our human quandaries and stick like honey on bread. But it is the business of walking in place, this chatter, loudly treading water, drowning out the sound of truth.

Coelho wrote, "A boat is safest when docked at the port, but that's not what a boat was built for."

There is comfort in the ports of figuring, but we are built to take the journey that starts with the untethering. Our greatness begins when we look to the oceanic horizon and realize its home.  

Subtleties have their charm.

It's lovely to whisper,

to simply hold hands,

to decide to make due,

to live light and quiet.

Palms down.

Me, contained and neat. 

Ah but there are times that I just need it all.

I need to shout.

I want that juicy kiss.

I'm hungry for more than what's due.

And I live, thick and loud.

Palms up.

Me, all over and messy.

Paint in my hair.

Dirt on my knees.

Sunburn on my nose. 

And when I rest my head...

I crinkle my nose,

Feel a soft, playful sting, that makes me smile into my pillow,

And I sleep, deep and well.

A moment came as I followed a simple breath
passing through my mouth,
my throat,
my chest,
my belly.
My mind diligently followed the air like a dog to a bone. 
Hard awareness chased its prize down the respiratory path,
and soft awareness was left alone to wander, to explore.
It was then she found my heart.
Such a peace was there,
She stopped, rested and softly... was.
What emerged was a lovely space.
An open door.
A pillow. 
A quiet love.

It doesn't really matter. 
None of it.
You're just passing though.

It can't really hurt you.
None of it.
You're just passing through.

You're not really under it.
And you don't have to get over it.
None of it.
You're just passing through.

You can look for it
But you won't really find it
Because you don't really need it.
None of it.
You're just passing through.

You could hold it.
Some of it.
But you'll never quite have it. 
None of it.
And it doesn't really matter. 
Because you're just passing though.

What if the hokey pokey is what it's all about?

I walk to arrive.
I stand for a cause.
I fight for justice.
I speak to connect, listen to learn and smile to befriend. 

Every move has a purpose that gives my mind comfort. 
We are living well, says the mind,
We have goals. We've made progress.
But what of the breath?
That lovely, involuntary action that slips so gracefully past my mind 20,000 times a day.
What do I breathe for?
To oxidize the blood, yes.
But is there another intention of the breath? Another goal?
Surely that steady give and receive must have more meaning.
When I close my eyes and breathe, am I expanding my mind?
Am I sustaining an inner peace?
Am I acquiring unforeseen knowledge?
Am I losing unwarranted fears?
Am I connecting more deeply with my heart?

Inhale.

Exhale.

Perhaps the breath is not for gain, not for loss.
Not for progress or cause.
Quite wisely not for any of those things at all.
I sense that each breath wishes not to change a thing. 
Desires not to act upon the moment at all, but rather longs to know it more fully, as it is.
Perhaps the breath is the moment.
We acknowledge and become part of the moment by taking in a lovely lung-sized dose of now.
Simply, gracefully, without effort or cause, we breathe to receive our own special little dose of now.  

i have my paintings, pictures and tapestries.
i have such lovely music with speakers that deliver it to every room.
i have an altar and incense, and enough candles to bring their own daylight…
my easel and brushes, guitar and drum…
a kitchen of tools and treats and enough glass and china to serve the masses…
a collection of wisdom in all of my books, and a collection of sleepy smiles in my stock of wine…
a queen’s bed with more pillows than one head will ever need, one of them a body's length to close my eyes and hug…
a couch that's the color perfect with plush pillows and blankets to get lost in while i feast my eyes on a great big TV that displays amazing sights on demand… 
a bath tub i can fill with bubbles and oil, surrounded by flickering candles and outer calm...
my view of the river and tugboats and tree-covered cliffs…

so many things, big and small, subtle and soft, bright and ornate.

when lit by candle light it feels like a sea of a lovely version of me.

go on, take it 
go on
take it from me. 
i would give them all up to truly be with my heart.  

be still, my heart.
i am coming. 

Oh I know her.
I know her well.
The way she thinks. The way she feels.
Her fears.
Her causes.
Her soap boxes to stand on.
Her axes to grind.
Because I am her. Everyday.
And I play the role with precision.
She was written years ago and she's a beloved character ~ my ego is her biggest fan.
But who is this steel little puzzle piece, this 'perfect fit'.
Is she real?
Is she me?
Is she as new as now or is she the me of years ago, the me of yesterday, or even the me of a moment ago?
Is there a newer 'me' ~ one who is closer to my heart?
When did I last check?
Have I ever really checked, or am I too busy reading my lines?
Today, I'll look one layer deeper. 
I will peel back the me of a moment ago and be the me of this moment. 
Try to be the me who is as new as now.

I was so busy. I was so involved.
everything was more important ~ more pressing, and more in reach.
my ego followed every distraction's bright promise of progress.
my mind leap with every thought.
my hands reached for every bauble.
and I was immersed in it all,
up to my eyeballs. 

and now, the sun fades away, and I am empty.
I am tired, although its still early.
I am hungry, though I ate all day.
I am sad, though 'nothing' is quite wrong.
I just didn't listen to my heart today. I just didn't. 

I spent the waking day looking away from what's real ~ what's true and beautiful.
perhaps I will sleep more wisely.

There is nothing to understand.
There is nothing to figure out.
Nothing to build.
Nothing to knock down.
There is no one to tell.
Nothing to know.
Nothing to remember.
Nothing to forget.

In this moment, you are complete.
With no effort of the mind,
No act of the body,
You are complete and perfect.
You are whole and lovely.

Stop. Breathe. And Be Still.