My last 48 hours have gone from meditative silence, to an all-night relay for cancer awareness, to three hours on the phone with Apple tech support, to the hand sharpening of 24 pencils.
Today is Jeb’s first day of second grade. He’s transitioning from a small, independent school to our town’s six-acre public elementary school. I’ve got the jitters and must appear casual, yet supportive. Positive, but not overly enthusiastic.
I have prepared lunch in advance. His backpack is loaded with school supplies, including the requested “24 #2 pencils, sharpened.”
Today I delve into the realms of silence. Meditation with the Buddhists in the cottage above the river. All day we will sit. All day we will watch with mindfulness – breath, movement.
I have never done this before, though I have wanted to experience a Vipassana retreat for many years. Often these meditations are offered for 10 days (or more) at a time. We’ll see how I do with one day.
Last night at the question and answer gathering, our guide spoke of Shantideva, the 8th century monk that gave a renowned discourse on the way of the bodhisattva. Pema Chodron dedicated a book to it, “No Time To Lose”. Here’s an excerpt of her commentary on the human mind and our nature. The truth of what’s she’s saying, you could laugh or cry or both. Today, I’m hoping to get fitted with those leather shoes.
We’re neighbors that live along the back road of the lost coast. We sit around the fire with plates of deep-baked ulu in our hands, bare feet crossed in summer grass.
The Songwriter’s words drag me from primal smoke and flame to the virtual realm of cyber-speed ether. 3am. Those are my words. Cast to this diaphanous space in some hope of grasping something tangible. Touching something real.
The Songwriter smiles and reminds me that he likes to start his morning with a little ritual, part of which includes reading my random threads. My mind scans to recall my latest posts. More poetry than prose, as of late. Watery and vulnerable.
Good god – someone is reading this.
As July marks the surpassing of 10,000 visitors to the Archives (as per WordPress site stats) one would think I’d realized that these words do fall on cyber-eyes.
But I’m like this. A DJ on the radio, playing my music, talking on the microphone, pretending I’m alone in a room. Until the station manager reminds that at any given time, 5000 people are tuned in. I’m a writer waking at dawn, sifting through dreamy spaces on an internet landscape. Skimming mundane details. Revealing deep pockets. Feigning that no one will see.
I spent a little time recently, just reading some of the daily chronicles here. The titles seemed unfamiliar. The words reaching me from places that had been lost in the bustle of full sunlight. Forgotten in the day’s cell phone calls and scheduled drop-offs.
Who was this woman writing?
She is still in my discovery. She is still compelled to rise and come to this screen. And this morning, she was resting. Sleeping in well past 5.
For the Archives 