Discipline or addiction?
“Daily Journal entry” is a recurring item on my daily to-do list.
For a year it was a matter of religious discipline to execute on this item, only failing in the most extreme of circumstances such as hospitalization or other substantial episodes of incapacitation. Occasionally even these would not defeat the intention.
Today the reminder remains in place as a nutrient to gently infuse the practice of writing into an otherwise preoccupied schedule.
At the heart of this, I think, is a desire to make some creative offering on the regular. When I look directly at work I am doing with this intention, I find myself quickly questioning the efficacy of such egoistic intent. When I hold it lightly, letting something out into the world without any real understanding of its reach or impact, it falls from my heart like tears to the earth.
I guess I’m just saying all of this out loud to see creative offering is a kind of prayer. I look inside, find something I have to offer, some aspect of this humble self, and give that. This world and time and suffering is enormous, if, as I am, called to meet that, it is but by grace that one emerges sufficient to such a task from within the boundaries of the humble self.
Should the gift of gift ever flow through ME in such a way I should hope it does so quietly, without fuss, but in the meantime I should give simply what I have.
At once as well, that quietly itself can also be sought by the effort of discovering just what enormous beauty, majesty, and grace flows through the world in spite of my (our) tiny fits. Such a discovery transcends this humble self, leaving it like streamers in the wind, prayers written across their surface, tattered by the elements, used up, a fading reminder that someone once loved.
The hunt for new care partners continues in a quiet void. Each Avenue I know to travel in search of those new relations lies nearly exhausted. Each day I managed to nudge some new or undiscovered corner with the fullness of its receptivity, which is to say nearly nothing.
In spite of this, thanks to the love of friends, I rose again today. A joyful morning celebrating with Nova improvements in the difficult situation she has been carrying for over a year now. A bright blue sky and crisp cold morning greeted us busying ourselves through the house with breakfast and coffee and searching for the new home to come.
At 10 she left me to my own devices, pleasant meditation for a time and on to some STAGES consulting work for a friend.
Elisa arrived midday to help with the most basic of medical support and more food and coffee, this time in the warm sun in the company of our family of ravens and blossoming of spring flowers throughout the garden.
We made our way back indoors to continue the housing search, drill a little finance (she is the trustee ;-), and get her started down the path to holo- hosting, technology that is just getting started with sincere promises to the light.
Upon her departure to meet and support the journey of a young Honduran refugee fleeing violence and tragedy in that unsettled Banana Republic (all in a days work for our intrepid heroine), Terra and I fed yet another drawer of the filing cabinet through the magic box on the desk, leaving only PDF files and a pile due for the shredder in our wake. One step closer to moving no paper in our coming home transition.
The house is quiet now, [in that moment the pressure change in the Bell jar of sacred water in the windowsill, responding to the evening sun, gave a ring for the jars namesake, catching me quite off guard and giggling with the paradox], as I was going to say some quiet spiritual music playing in the background has since turned to rock ’n’ roll and the arising and passing of things continues unabated.
Tomorrow the last week of March. Another day by the grace of friends, and into the fast water that leads into a week of meditation retreat stillness pond and out into the river of change beyond.
God gets to know things, we just get to ask questions…