MUSING
I’m finding it difficult.
Mostly we want to be happy.. or unburdened, liberated, useful…engaged… And a lot of the time something other than this is occurring. It’s difficult. There are lots of hours in a day and lots of minutes in which we are trying to steer ourselves, thought to thought, through those hours. We might, consciously or not, fuel our energies in the direction of acquiring the elusive missing piece. And this effort may or may not be an intelligent expression of our energies or faculties, it also may or may not be an effort. We might sit with what is gnawingly uncomfortable and we might beg off and find some mask to try on, or…
Today I find myself asking: what is it that makes something difficult? Simply that the thing that’s here is not what we want to be (here)? What is it that’s here? What is it that isn’t?
Is it difficult because we care? Because there at the feet of difficulty is a deep investment in …. in …. our own lives…in the lives of others….in living. There is something living there that wants…wants something from living. And it isn’t just one want, though we might try to distill it to one. To be loved, that is a big one. Every being constellates a unique pattern of desires. With every shift of light, every leaf that drops, every rising breath, every burrowing ache desire is expressed through the channel of my being - my being an extension of all being.
Maybe the heart wants something other than what the shoulders want? Does a poem want something other than what an essay wants, than a painting? Is all this desire my responsibility? Some of it I see, some of it invisible. Perhaps the responsibility is part of what makes it difficult, the reverence for horses, for insects, for boxes and winds. And maybe it’s not so difficult, it’s the wanting that makes it so, the thinking.. that fear that what appears next is more than I can see or carry, or isn’t, isn’t anything at all. Am I feeling something that isn’t here? Even this is an expression of something that I carry, or carries me.
Today the wind will blow every leaf from the japanese maple at the back of the yard. Today the last tomato from the garden will have rotted before I could add it to my dish. Today I am not an animal that can stand still in the wind. Today this house is smaller than me.
And so…. remember that life is a friend, and that we continue on sweetly, without knowing.
Next weekend we will have another round of Cranio clinic in Portland. I will be in working in NY the following week if any of you have friends in NY who might like a session. I enjoy giving cranio sessions almost more than anything I do… I don’t know why this is. There is something in the journey that takes us both into the constellation.
Lots of love,
Molly