angelbirdflies

Survival. What is that? Food, water, shelter. The sum total of a life? Its entirety? If so, what is this longing? This ache? This yearning? I am fed. I have drink. I have shelter. Still I hunger. "I have meat ye know not of." My heart is growling. Hungry to thrive.

The truth of who you are is untouched by any 'concept' of who you are, whether ignorant or enlightened, worthless or grand. The truth of who you are is free of it all. You are already free, and all that blocks your realization of that freedom is your attachment to some thought of who you are. This thought doesn't keep you from being the truth of who you are. You already are that. It separates you from the 'realization' of who you are. ~ Gangaji, from:  The Diamond in Your Pocket

So this weekend began with a solo trip to the Firefly Gypsy Caravan Craft Faire in Boulder.  It was a fabulous array of local artisans and a feast for the senses. I purchased a lovely hairband from this local artist, similar to the ones pictured atop the crate but in warm, autumn tones. My friend Jaala Sheldon creates fanciful upcycled jewelry from recycled vintage jewelry and she brought her wonderful airstream caravan decked out in the gypsy regalia pictured below. Next, I trekked into the foothills above Boulder. When I returned I set the boys loose on proverbial windmills.  I don't want to horrify my pacifist friends (as I myself am among them) but I have six brothers and I love boys.  So I bring home boxes and they take their metal swords (I purchased both of them at the Renaissance Faire- a long sword for Owen and Bodhi inherited Owen's old dagger) and they tilt at imagined foes for long peaceful mama-lounging moments. Now Cain and Abel are in separate rooms, wh...

I haven't written anything personal for some time.  It is not for want of deep diving into the well of living, rather it is from a constant water-treading in emotional exhaustion.  Sometimes the weight of human expectation and belief (my own at the forefront) weighs me down with lead-like determination and I find myself afraid of the next breath...the next "not knowing", afraid that tomorrow will inevitably find itself echoing the sharp notes of today.  These are the dark nights.  I surface for a long deep breath, drawn unhurriedly in a clear near-autumn eve, and ask,  "What if we can't f*#k it up?".  What if life just is and there isn't a right way or a wrong way except our thinking makes it so.  What if it...all of it...isn't such a big deal.  Would the stars still turn round the heavens if I tumbled ass over teakettle into my own stupidity.  Would autumn still give way to winter.  Of course it would.  What if I stood up, tall...

"Submit to a daily practice. Your loyalty to that is a ring on the door. Keep knocking, and the joy inside will eventually open a window and look out to see who's there." ~Rumi