Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

September 18, 2019

Here's what I've forgotten: to trust my mind to stillness. Instead, I've been fighting like mad under the tempting assumption that to let the mind still would mean that there's nothing to stop the avalanche of dread, worry, anxiety, and worst-case-scenarios from coming toppling down from where they've been shoved and shoved again.


But that, doves, is the crux of the illness--this belief that it takes all of our brute strength to ward off the messy onslaught of our minds. And the ridiculously unfair and cruel thing about worry, about anxiety is that the more we struggle, the more it manifests. Think of it this way: a glass of water on your desk, when left alone, will not rush up and topple the glass, soaking everything in its path. Of course not--that's not the nature of water. It takes a force--the wind, the moon, the tides, gravity--to inspire movement, gentle or violent.

We are our own act of god--we provide our own force by struggling to hold everything back. But her...

August 6, 2019

We really do make it entirely too difficult, too often for ourselves. The bitch of it is that we *like* that inconvenience, I think. We like the feeling of being burdened, of sacrificing something, even if it's only in our heads. Goddess forbid we enjoy a day, work or no work, without guilt, without feeling we *should* be miserable, at least in small part, in order to feel worthy. 

I blame Hollywood. And Puritans. 

And I blame ourselves for mainlining this idea that it all has to be so bloody difficult to be worthy of mention. Mention. Well, there's too much noise in this world anyway, not enough focus on quiet diligence, quiet joy and a day very well spent. 

June 21, 2019

Letting our mind still itself seems like a scary prospect, counter-intuitive--if we let our minds still and settle, then there would be nothing there to stop the avalanche of dread, worry, anxiety, and worst-case-scenarios to come toppling down from where we've shoved them, our backs aching from the effort. 


But that, doves, is the crux of the illness--this belief that it takes all of our brute strength to ward off the messy onslaught of our minds. And the ridiculously unfair and cruel thing about worry, about anxiety is that the more we struggle, the more it manifests. Think of it this way: a glass of water on your desk, when left alone, will not rush up and topple the glass, soaking everything in its path. Of course not--that's not the nature of water. It takes a force--the wind, the moon, the tides, gravity--to inspire movement, gentle or violent. 

We are our own act of god--we provide our own force by struggling to hold everything back. But here's the secret--if we were to wa...

April 22, 2019

We're so terrified of stillness--of not taking immediate action, of being alone with ourselves, with the bodies and the space and the time and responsibilities we inhabit now that we have no idea what would happen if we stood still. Just for now, just to see. 

I wonder what that kind of stillness would feel like, and I wonder if we have the stamina for it.

January 3, 2019

We don't have to be so very self-reliant. We don't need to know Zen to be zen. It's perfectly okay if, in this lifetime, it takes an outside source of stillness to still us, whether the Buddha or a stuffed toy that hasn't left your side since you were small. 

I think the first step to stillness is to stop apologizing for how we were made.

December 18, 2018

Once again, petals, in the interest of rest, I leave the commentary to you. Hopefully I'll be back in fighting form tomorrow. 

Until then--love, love!

November 21, 2018

If we can rise above our daily fears, the small things that nab us with sticky fingers and for whose minor marring of our day we contort ourselves all out of shape, then we will have the clear head and clear sight necessary to sink effortlessly into endless beauty and infinite potential. 

   

May 2, 2018

I've been on this planet now, well, a few decades, and I don't know why I have to learn, relearn, convince and re-convince myself that my mind is a liar. Oh, not necessarily a devious one, though it can feel that way on the other side of clarity, but one that has a compulsion to spin dark, lurid tales, filled with disaster and bloodshed (not really) and dire circumstances. 

But these tales--complete with pictures and psychosomatic sensations--are so compelling, body and soul are pulled right up into the electric frenzy of mind. And look what your mind has now--a captive audience. There ain't nothing so addictive to someone who loves the sound of his own voice than a captive audience. So much so, he'll keep right on talking, spilling and spreading his snake oil indefinitely. Infinitely. 

And I don't know that we're so much addicted to the stuff he's selling as we're in the trenches of habit and, at our core, too afraid to believe anything else (granted it's difficult to hear anything...

January 31, 2018

As messy as this end of winter can become, there's still something acutely refreshing here, and it's not just the weather, but the way we handle ourselves and handle our days. At some point, we stop caring about appearance; we're just so tired of being cold, mud-spattered, salt-stained and careful, that we dress for the elements, fashion be damned. That's a refreshing detox in and of itself--a little rebellion some of us, if we're wise to it, can carry through the rest of the year. 

And, of course, I like the clear delineation between end of day and beginning of day--the self-imposed efficiency leaves my brain free to wander elsewhere, and the darkness is convenient for creative dreaming. 

February, I think, is the best month for this kind of channeling, this kind of astral traveling, if you will. It's a short month, a cold month, and while it's still a dark month, light leaks out at both ends of its days. Perhaps that kind of generosity, that kind of brazen bravery can inspire us t...

January 29, 2018

Petals, this has been one hell of a month. This has, without exaggeration, been the hardest, most exhausting, most adrenal-taxing, mental-drain of a month I've ever (almost) lived through. January is generally my favorite month of the year, so it's doubly discouraging. And that's the exact word for it--discouraging. It has been one heck of a downhill slide with no brakes, too little light, and not nearly enough sleep to manage this landscape. 

I have a feeling I'm not alone in this. I have a feeling this has been one universally walloping, take-no-prisoners kind of a month. And when your well-crafted, finely-honed tools are barely getting you through the days without you taking to your bed, well. All I can say is, we're almost there. 

I don't think it's a coincidence that a full moon/total lunar eclipse ushers out the month. These are big, painful shifts, like the ache of a broken bone, slowly and stubbornly knitting itself together. There's nowhere to go, nothing to take that can quell...

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