2013.03.10 _ 54

Thank you everybody your love and comfort was enormously helpful and greatly appreciated.

Heart to heart
ear to ear
a new day
has begun

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NaGLVS5b_ZY

Also offering this poem written a few years ago as counterpoint to yesterdays pain. To understand that emotions are transitory and pass away with time.

Friday, April 8, 2011
Running
The wild wind blows
pushing me away
to the wandering fields
this way and that

running through the grass
as tall as my shoulder
not seeing
what lays ahead

running
running
running

head long rushing
into love
warmth
laughter

hear my heart pound
in joyous laughter
singing
while I run

through the fields
wild and free
never to know
what lays ahead

running
running
running

feeling the warmth
of blood pumping
though my veins
breath filling my lungs

light and love
fill the air
as I run
and laugh

as I fall
softly
into waiting arms
ready to catch me

running
running
running

through the fields
letting the wind push me
in whatever direction it goes
turning this way and that

laughter fills the air
as I run faster
faster
faster

spinning
turning
being
in the moment

time stops
sun shines
love
laughter

running
running
running

I AM HERE
AND NOW
AND EVERYWHERE
ME!!!! edited 16:18, 10 Mar 2013

Meditated in the evening. When my husband is home during my meditation, I usually ask him to tell me when it's been 10 to 15 minutes, so I don't have to use a bell that might wake the children. Funnily, this makes me quite jittery and impatient, while I am also very aware that it would be totally fine if he were to arrive a few minutes late.

Thank you Catrina. Now I'm trying to let both those poems be what they are, both illusory, both real, and as you said, transient.

In online dictionaries the word "contemplate" ranges from thinking deeply about something to looking from different angles. When I hear or say the word "stop" in a contemplative way, it comes with suspension of action but also with looking into "where I am" ... including myself as making up the structure of the walls of the moment, if that makes sense. There is an intentional forgetting, in a sense, to question the pattern of which I find myself a part.

I'm engaging this way as I write this here, deeply considering hands, computer, keys, floor, sofa, sound of son typing, curtains swaying, tv frozen mid-show across the room... then further dropping the labels, or playing with dropping the layers and getting in touch with a quality of dance or life underneath all these expressions.

Yes, Catrina, a good counterpoint, and with similar verticality, both poems sort of 'stand' as columns in balance...

Allowing the weekend invitation to drowsiness to drift in, like a lyrical fog...this after a couple of hours of labor-intesive hand gardening which had brought me close to the earth, becoming once again aware that attention to the task is often more valuable to the soul than the task itself: we can learn so much from the loving tilling of a few square inches of soil.

::: Pounding of the heart
::: Real, alive, joyful and strong
::: The beat of oneness