"…what is essential is invisible to the eye"
Few days ago I realised I was not only laughing, but doing so from the bottom of my belly. What a pleasant things to notice! The more I notice small little miserable “I”s, like the frightened one, the scared one, the one that does not want to see, and the angry one, the more I look at them, love them, give them space in my body but misidentify from them and tell them “I am not you”- the more space I find in me, not only for all these poor ones- but also for joy.
Sometimes it dawns on me that we are a nation that is grasping on to death, instead of holding presence in life. We remember the dead but we forget our living, forget self remembrance, forget that we are striding on a precious holy path.
People call people like me “digital nomads”, when in fact I don’t regard myself as a nomad at all. I’m not a wanderlust- I’m just still in a quest, trying to find some rest to my restless mind, trying to alleviate the pain of chronic diseased life. sometimes there’s something powerful to words, that “disease” is expressing the dis-ease folded in it. but most of the times they just fool me to think that I can express myself fully. then I tend to hold on to the words, and forget that life is not the words, just those moments that I lose while trying to analytically refine my words in a false belief that like so I would be more accurate.
People like shiny things, like silver and gold and diamonds
But when you go to the river
And sit upon the waterfall
And watch the bubbles of foam shining on the surface in the morning sun
And you see the sparks of light dancing on water
And the dragonflies shiny wings in the soft rays
You realize there’s so much life in this beauty, it flows on and on, it never stays the same, it just lingers for a moment
And it’s gone
On and on
Today I acknowledged painfully that this sweet beautiful river is not my home any more. The path is my home, and when I’m on the path then the river flows inside me and with me- wherever I go.
I was speaking with a love and shared with him the difficulties of holding a daily meditation practice as a backpacker in dormitory rooms of hostels in expansive europe. He told me “you know how hostels for meditating are called? Ashrams.”
The biggest moon of the past 60 years has shone upon the “alternative” (alternative is the Brit way to say hippie) town of Totnes, England. But typical to England, it might of shone very bright, but hidden behind a veil of thick grey clouds. has come to show me how obscuring our veils are.
Tension becomes stagnation, relaxation becomes flow.
Breathing again and again to the depth of my body, sleeping on the floor and meeting dear earth with my body every night I start to perceive what I’m being taught, but instead of it being just words and concepts of somebody else they become to be my own experience. as time passes by, I see myself believing less and less to concepts and trusting more and more the felt intuitions and voices that my body signals to me. I understand that this voice has been there all along, but tensing myself has made me deaf. and blind. and stagnated.
In the farm that I’m volunteering at, the cows are let to roam around free and wild in their field. free and wild, and still, contained within the boundaries of the field, behind a light wire fence that’s enhanced on the top with one or two electrical wires. and you wonder- what REALLY hold this herd of cows behind the fence? for sure they are strong enough to push against the wooden poles that it’s connected to, and pull them off the ground. for sure they can jump higher then the electrical wires. why don’t they do that?
