Energy, courage, fear, decision. Vision. Direction. How to revive the spirit when knowledge brings such reluctance. Well said, that much knowledge brings sorrow.
To continue to show kindness and to cultivate love, and to support the awakening of freedom; these traits become all the more important.
Who DOESN’T leave a train wreck? How CAN you plan for any contingency?
I keep waiting for some illumination that will save me from the unpredictabilities of life, but the only one I find again and again, is the grace of love, from this benevolent God I follow in huge mazes, like a bird dog in rough country. I run and run, occasionally freezing on point, more often loping through the undergrowth after elusive and irresistible scents, while the master, who understands my wild spirit, follows my progress and takes note of whatever worthy is flushed into the air.
I am not a wolf or coyote; the wild is not my home. I am not quite a house dog, though I love the fire in the house and the master’s voice, his hand upon my head. I am somewhere in between, living on borderlands, still running off, turning up lost, and then straggling home, stiff with burs and tangled as the woods.
(It is a pity to keep hunting dogs in the city. They are half-wild and running is their very heart.)
Living alone requires a very disciplined, simple lifestyle. Working for a living in this culture is itself enough to quench the spirit, if the work is antagonistic to the heart. Even if it is a good thing, the single life is very hard; I’ve been paired for 30 years and I wake up now single, sick at heart. To give due time and consideration to every single aspect of living that is required seems impossible to me at present. In part because I am exhausted in every way, and in part because my heart has retreated behind many veils. Not that she won’t speak! She will! But that her trust and her guilelessness have been punctured and she must attend to her wounds.
I very much want to go outside but it is cloudy, rainy and cold. Or, it seems cold, and I am loathe to face those elements. I long for the heated scents of summer, the songs of birds and insects, the pungency of melissa and chives, the dewy roses that ravish, the lilies, astonishing in their ecstatic purity.. The smell of the river. All here now is damp cold and grey. I burn incense.
No comments:
Post a Comment