Awake and still.
Awake and still. The front door of the house stands open, the gurgling sounds of the waterfall four meters out from dancing quietly through the house. Behind me, the window of the office slightly ajar has filled the room with the fresh morning air.
Caroline in the garden collecting herbs for our morning farm scramble. She has brought duck eggs, I’ll be offering vegetables and other sundry to the mix.
The sound of the freeway about half a kilometer off is distinctly lessened as the traffic is a fraction of what has grown familiar over the years.
The house is coming alive for the day.
Sleep last night was mixed leaving me uncertain of just how much of it I got. It seems I feel rested enough for now. Rising was slow and through dreams, and then meditation in the quiet of the room, and then Caroline’s arrival in her black linen farm skirt, dark flannel shirt, and bone colored tasseled scarf.
Smiling, we made our way into the morning shuffle, a privilege for me today as Caroline is a master of bodywork and so the routine of range of motion with her is richly embellished as a movement of lymph fluid, penetration of muscle tension, and the rejuvenation of the chest cavity. This seems to be having a cumulative effect as I experience breath to be much returning to my body in recent days as she has applied this practice with me.
After a bit of conversation and quiet we brought online a podcast discussing US economic and dollar policy over the last 80 years from an international perspective. I won’t try to repeating me of that intelligence year, only to say that it does seem as though things are going to get pretty interesting going forward from the precipice of today.
Rolling through the dining room this morning I had to stop and simply take in the scene on the chalkboard where Courtney, last evening, had drawn an expression of the Sri Raja Yantra, a wonderfully meditative geometric image of triangles in circles and squares with lotus petals garnishment derived from sacred narrative and sacred geometry that is thousands of years old.
The image is large, taking up most of the 4 foot vertical space of the chalkboard, and multicolored. Caroline and I stood, just appreciating it for a few moments before setting about our morning business.
Speaking of ritual, it is Sunday again and after taking breakfast in the garden where Eliana has promised me a surprise adorning the top of our little stream, I will be back to the desk for the weekly review of messages, projects, outlying wants and wonders, the calendar of last week and the calendar to come. After that will be reading – which will include gathering more detail on our global macro social economic conditions – and finally, correspondence; that precious window of informal communications with loved ones around the world.
I find I’m still wrapping my head around the nature of my own situation. Just a few months ago, it was fairly constant world with me a bit tumbling through in uncertainty. Now, as the poet says, everywhere is falling everywhere. Perhaps in a situation like this it is best simply to focus on intention. Finding the kernel of hope for what is most beautiful for the most number and laboring over it layers of mother-of-pearl until from the dark emerges some new jewel in some new world.
Same as it ever was.
In the midst of all of this, I find renewed gratitude for life. I pray that I surrender fully enough to the moments need that the most generous response can come through me.
The windchimes are singing long slow notes now. Caroline is playing some violin music in the kitchen as she cooks. The waterfall echoes through the house, and distant motorcycles thunder down the road.
These words go still…
God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…