In the slumber of a season’s change, the lament of a past Lent, a 40 days to and fro mountain walk … in this space time rolled days, weeks and months over and into each other … and left me hiding, in furlough.
How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives … a life sentence bared by Annie Dillard caused a heels over my head brooding lately…
… the waking up to new blessed feeling glad morns battled against the storms of guilt-ridden nights … the habitual hammer hit this head twice too many times weakening the hand to write from the heart … but the more I hid from reality the more the pangs of a pulling force prodded, nudged – to drop the guilty feelings, to breathe in the present … that accepting the present, resting in the present reality, is to be the moment’s gift.
(how many momentary gifts lay unopened, unnoticed?)
So, here I am – trying to be true to a want to express myself with words …on connectedness, on relatedness, on resonance… a (loch)ness with myself, with you dear reader, and with reality.
How I go through my days, is of course, how I go through my life
How I impoverish my days, is of course, how I impoverish my life
How I frivol away my days, is of course, how I frivol away my life
How I settle my days is, of course, how I settle my life
(what is reality now?)
Hiding, locked in set boundaries, in struggles between the ideal and the real, constantly in some kind of reaction to the present moment … I accept that the meaning of the word has an inherent rightness. Its meaning now is reality. And its unfolding meaning now is perfect. That life is unfolding … perfect in its Presence.
Autumn – a time for winding down
think I while the sun warm on my neck
and on the washing
invite to stretch out hands and
scratch the ears of a much neglected pup
like a deer panteth for the water
accepting the soul’s disquiet
not blindly following, but trying to understand
How I spend my days, is of course, how I spend my life