Silky stands of experience.
Welcome to the Goose Yard.
Buying property was something I dreamed about, a lot, but never thought would be possible for me. Over the years I have cultivated many beautiful gardens, only to leave them behind, breaking my heart time and again. How I longed for a place where I could put down roots, to witness the magnificence unfold, year after year.
And then, these four remarkable humans and I, decided to buy land together. I feel so blessed to know these beautiful souls. Together we really are a dream team. We each have our own unique skills, perspectives, and characteristics that create a strong community.
I am aflutter to behold the unfolding of our collective dreams.
The unapologetic Columbine.
It is said that people used to grind up the seeds and the dried flowers to make a love potion. It is also said to cause heart weakness. I find it interesting that it is affiliated with love yet can be harmful to the heart.
Sometimes love is harmful to the heart.
Slowing down the rhythms. Shhhhh, luxuriating in white light while rain falls.
Words, fill my eyes.
My dear hungry ghosts, masticate this life slowly, deliberately.
Assimilate the process, the unfolding. Creativity cannot run on fumes. Nourish the blood, the soul,
Sitting in the unknown is not new to me. Today however, the unknown has left me with a heavy sadness in my heart. I may have lost a dear old friend… The mysteries of life torment my mind while my heart beats on with stubborn hope.
Watching the crow soar, I laugh through my tears.
I saw the first crocus’s of the season today. I also held a sweet honey bee in the palm of my hand. I was so overwhelmed with sweetness. To hold such a delicate creature was almost unbearable. My heart was breaking in the best way possible. I felt such love for the tiniest one. Spring is stirring and I already can’t handle it.
Oh my heart.
I want to pause, give thanks to the winter. What a winter it was.
Slow, quiet, and reflective.
As one season melts into the next, I sit and wonder what will unfold for me. I can dream and wish but ultimately I must breathe and experience – welcoming what comes. Such a life this existence. Such a mysteriously rich and heartbreakingly beautiful existence.
I soften and dream into being.
Oh winter, must you cling so tightly.
How I yearned for you. Now I yearn for the sun to kiss my skin, while birds chirp and bees buzz lazily.
Please forgive my ever changing heart.
I fear I am searching for happiness in spring, this searching is futile. Happiness will not magically appear at the end of this winter journey. Happiness lives in my breath, my senses, my heart, in the slush, and the grey. I know happiness lives in the present, but I don’t always choose it.
It’s more than just searching for happiness though – there is a waiting that’s happening inside me. What of this waiting… what am I waiting for? Maybe if I remove all the barriers I’ve created, I will stare happiness in the face. Wait, what if I take happiness off it’s pedestal? Yes.
All this thinking – I’m not even un-happy.
Watching my fumbling mind scatter. I am a scatter brain.
It’s fine, I’m used to it.
I’m trying to pack – it’s tough. I have 3 guitars… I can’t part with any of them.
Also fine. I’ll just keep them all,
These are going in the mail… fun.
Life moves, undulates, breathes in and out, contracting and expanding. This is its nature, the nature of what is. Whatever is, is on the move. Nothing remains the same for very long. The mind wants everything to stop so that it can get its foothold, find its position, so it can figure out how to control life. Through the pursuit of material things, knowledge, ideas, beliefs, opinions, emotional states, spiritual states, and relationships, the mind seeks to find a secure position from which to operate.
The mind seeks to nail life down and get it to stop moving and changing. When this doesn’t work, the mind begins to seek the changeless, the eternal, something that doesn’t move. But the mind of thought is itself an expression of life’s movement and so must always be in movement itself. When there is thought, that thought is always moving and changing. There is really no such thing as thought. There is only thinking, so thought which is always moving (as thinking) cannot apprehend the changeless.
When thought enters into the changeless it goes silent. When thought goes silent, the thinker, the psychological “me,” the image-produced self, disappears. Suddenly it is gone. You, as an idea, are gone. Awareness remains alone. There is no one who is aware. Awareness itself is itself. You are now no longer the thought, nor the thinker, nor someone who is aware. Only awareness remains, as itself. Then, within awareness, thought moves. Within the changeless, change happens.
Now awareness expresses itself. Awareness is always expressing itself: as life, as change, as thought, feelings, bodies, humans, plants, trees, cars, etc. Awareness yields to itself, to its inherent creativity, to its expression in form, to experience itself. The changeless is changing. The eternal is living and dying. The formless is form. The form is formless. This is nothing the mind could have ever imagined
My mind is often searching for some footing, something to anchor to so that it may try and “control” life. I know that when I am trying to control life that is when discomfort shows up, usually as anxiety. I have been at war with my mind for a number of years now. Maybe it is time to surrender and simply be aware of life expressing itself through thinking. According to the poem above – when the thinker (me) is silent, I disappear. Why am I always trying to disappear…
What would happen if I allowed my mind to wander and think into all the dark corners. What if I stopped resisting?
Maybe I will find the ease and peace I’m searching for,
A bunch of questionable adventures have left me feeling all the things. Refreshing and out of control. Blah blah blah-ing all over the place while filling my eyes with dreams and my heart with warm whiskey.
Driving, dodge-ing, laughing, boating, seeing, feeling, questioning, graceless vomiting…
The past few weeks have left me musing about attachment. I had a significant amount of my hair cut off recently that I wasn’t ready for. I was (maybe still am) reeeeeeally attached to my hair and my identity of being a long haired person. I also had a person step into my life for a moment and then step out. It stirred up feelings I haven’t felt in a long time and has left me pondering this idea of attachment. Attachment to people, ideas, objects, beliefs, etc. I can understand the idea of not attaching oneself to something/someone as attachment leads to suffering, but I am a long way from not having any attachments.
I sometimes like to suffer though. I love sitting in the pit of utter despair and sadness, just for a short moment however. I don’t linger long in the pit. It’s cathartic, beautiful, creative, and insane.
I am still unabashedly attached to many many things, and I’m fine with that. I love to indulge, and since indulging in self-reflection is one of my favourite things, having attachments guarantees things for me to reflect about. Self fulfilling.