In a transparent revealing of my stream of consciousness, I’ll share that this morning’s writing exercise has left me only with thoughts of the roses at the Self-Realization Fellowship Lake Shrine in Malibu, California.
Dedicated by Paramahansa Yogananda in 1950, the Bohemian and I visited the temple in May 2012. Beautiful and serene, we soaked in the calm and smelled the roses.
These roses appear in my mind, as a quote from Yogananda is given via the Lake Shrine Temple’s website:
“Come into the silence of solitude, and the vibration there will talk to you through the voice of God.”
I believe God can be found in the fragrant folds of these petals, sharing an infinite supply of stories.
Four years ago, today, Jeb got invited to play at his friend’s house, and I got a free afternoon to take a walk on the beach.
It was sunset at my favorite seaside haven. I was scanning seashells, unwinding, and humming to myself in the September salt air. There was a man in the distance with a rose tattoo on his bicep. When we passed each other on the sand, we exchanged one word: beautiful.
In that moment, the Bohemian entered my life, and the rest unfolded in some fateful play of events that is still mysterious to me.
Each passing instant holds possibilities that we cannot fully understand with our minds. Dreams can come true. Magic can happen.
I don’t need to understand. I’m just staying grateful.
this man opened my heart to love and brings me so much happiness – mahalo ke akua
In the very early days of my chronicling here on the Archives, I quoted William Stafford’s poem, “The Way It Is.” It begins with the line, “There’s a thread you follow…”
That thread has been an ongoing compass point for the past five years of posting on the Archives. A guidance that even took me down the path that led to a six month posting hiatus.
This thread, some sort of magical filament, is both familiar and mysterious. Consistent and elusive. I am its dedicated follower.
“‘There’s no such thing as coincidence,’ said the Englishman…’I’m here because a friend of mine heard of an Arab who…’
But the caravan began to move, and it was impossible to hear what the Englishman was saying. The boy knew what he was about to describe, though: the mysterious chain that links one thing to another, the same chain that had caused him to become a shepherd, that had caused his recurring dream, that had brought him to a city near Africa, to find a king, and to be robbed in order to meet a crystal merchant, and…
The closer one gets to realizing his Personal Legend, the more that Personal Legend becomes his true reason for being, thought the boy.”
I don’t know exactly what my Personal Legend may be, I’m still on the path to discovery. But I do know I’m wandering along with that chain, that thread. And the Archives, here, reflect the journey.
Standing where we are and looking back from where we’ve come, fresh perspective is offered on the legends of our lives.
In mid-April, we celebrated the Bohemian’s birthday by taking a family walk to a local stream and waterfall. We’d been to this spot numerous times. Once in 2012, I snapped a photo of Jeb and the Bohemian, which ended up in a frame on our kitchen wall.
Three years later, standing in the same stream-side location, Jeb suggests they stage the shot again.
January 2013
April 2015
Looks like the Bohemian’s hair has gotten shorter, and Jeb has gotten taller. Even distant trees reveal their years of growth.
Teetering on an old and beautiful path, their photo reminds me of that thread. The trails we traverse in living out our legends.
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