What I Was Grateful For Today.

5am kitty paw patting my face,

the silence as I walk through the house, 

outside the garden rings with birdsong,

peacock, pheasant, finch,

this evening,

sun salutations in the heat,

the window open to no effect,

we toil and persist and sweat,

crows in the hot, still air outside have 'India' in their cries,

and in the silence of shavasana at the end,

I give thanks for the normal, familiar day that came between,

 ~*~

I Want To Stop The World From Spinning....

...from carrying me away,

from the tumble of waves that will not hold me,

that shake and toss and throw me.

I want to take hold of things again,

my grip sure and strong,

a steadfast hold on things that matter,

and bring me into calm....

Last week, for a few days out there, it was as though someone opened up the sky, a sudden explosion of fine moisture that seemed to hang, all day, suspended in the air, catching the sun where it hid on the other side of this gossamer veil.

Every day I drive my familiar route, eyes longingly on the trees, and everything is shades of greys and browns, the trees silent in a rain that blends into milkiness. Gentle, pale, nacreous. A bloom of white on everything. And it is as though my mind expands out to merge with the damp diaphanous air, and in my minds eye I no longer see my car, it melts into moisture, drifts away into the misty rain, and I am flying, leaving the road, into and up over the trees, oh!

The cold air on my face is a welcome slap, as though a trusted friend shaking me out of my stupor, and I am here again, in the world, I lift my head and look around me, suspended now.

Here.

And then I see it. This place, this road that I travel every single day, that has become a chore, a blind drudgery, is revealed to me again.

And so, one day becomes the next, and the next, and then the first day of February dawns with a crisp, coldness of azure blue, a bright, perfect day, on this same road all becomes revealed in rust and browns and frosted sage. The blue sky is not a hard, bright blue, rather an opalescent wash, jet trails bleeding gently into it.

There, look, a sloping field, crisscrossed with hedges, and the occasional tree, everything smokey silver and brown in it's winter palette, the heavy frost giving the grass a milky sheen.

I know now, the lie of the land, each line and curve and slope and drop, hills and mountain crisscrossing one another, the long descent to the open sea, this road that snakes through, all of it, has become like a path in my brain, a mirror of my spirit skin. One that is part of me now.

In all that I am in an endless blur of Doing, these days, I see now, my constants are good things. Things that nourish, there, like a backbone, a perfect skeleton to lay my days on.

And I am grateful for this.

One Of Those Days.

There is a sycamore lined road I take each morning, where, above the neat rows of houses the mountains shadow one another high in the distance, today one basking in sunlight while behind it's sister lay shrouded in rain.
This morning, I saw them, the first bright splashes of red that have begun to appear amongst the leaves as we passed between the trees, wending our way in a shiny metal snake of cars, curving between trees and mountains on our daily chug.
We are truly Back To School now, our days slowly finding their well trodden groove, settling back in with just the smallest of sighs. Yet my mind is still eager to wander, to search for bright places where it can, and so, distracted as I was today by an unexpected row with Our Eldest first thing this morning, I reached into the sunlight for something positive, so in need of some yoga. We spent the last few months traveling south down the coast to our summer yoga quarters, and having missed a couple of classes recently it was with joyful relief I made my way to our local place only to find I was a week early....

And so I took a little walk, and pondered the unexpected bruising of the heart that we Mother's endure, the thoughtless words a child may say in the heat of the moment that we must absorb and somehow find the right way to bring to a positive ending.

And when I left after a while I drove without thinking and found myself back by the sea. The reassuring, ever dependable sea.

And I walked.

And as I sat in the sun, regretting I had not brought my togs, so lovely was the sun and the sea, I took that quiet time alone to pause and breathe and ponder some more, and as I stood to leave I understood that although I may not know the answer yet, going home with a peaceful, open (if bruised) heart was enough, and the answer would be provided in the right time.

And so of course tonight, what did I find when I opened my computer but this most lovely, timely, heartening video of a Dharma talk given to children by Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, that I now must share with whomever of you would like to watch it.



My heart is eased, my mind returned to my body.
And yes, the first thing he did, this errant boy of mine, upon arriving home, was apologise.

The Silence Between The Notes.

"Wolfgang Mozart, one of the most brilliant, prolific composers of all time, said that music exists “not in the notes,” but rather, “in the silence between them.” Without the off-beats—the silent, restful moments—we would hear no sound."

Tonight my heart is full.

You know the way sometimes there is a slow accumulation of tiny things, small moments of awareness that drop into a pool in your unconscious over a period of time, until either the pool overflows and begins to seep into your conscious mind, or maybe they become a softly glowing thread that you gradually become aware of, there when you look up, like a beautiful bright web of light all around you?
For days now I have had a feeling as though I walk around trailing a string of bright balloons above me that I somehow cannot grasp, that still bob behind me every time I turn to try and see them.
I could not pin down what exactly it was that was settling inside me, what it was I wanted to write about.

Last night I sat in the growing dark, saw the sun sink behind the steadfast mountains, the scent of incense drifted in from another part of the house. Jay is meditating. A soothing silence settles around the house. A distinctive quiet that allows soft voices to surface out of the whirl that has been my week.

And so, it begins to come together. As I sit, I become aware of my aching limbs, tired after the morning's challenging yoga class, and coupled as it is with words from one of my daily reads  (that I quoted at the beginning here) that has stayed with me all day, I understand.

I think what has found me is the beginnings of Mindfulness. An old and long-forgotten friend.

It definitely has to do with my now twice weekly yoga, (and whatever I can manage in between), and what this has brought me aside from the obvious physical.
A reaching out, for similar minds, for a plain on which to rest, to replenish myself, for people and places that fortify and sustain me in my daily rush, that refrain from negativity.
It is in what I seek out to read, whether books or blogs or online articles or what pages I choose to follow on facebook and in doing so choosing what is there each day on my wall.
It is in the books that Jay is reading, that lie on bedside table and on couches.
It is in the conversations we are having, the conversations I am having with others. That moment in an exchange with someone when a link is made and a spark happens and even if you don't know it immediately, that moment of warmth, of reassurance is there between you.

Yesterday evening I read this article that somehow crystallized it for me. I see now that, certainly not every time, but increasingly so, as I go through my day my awareness of each thing I do, the way each person interacts with me and I with them, whether my child, a friend or a stranger, is somehow slowed down, so I see each each exchange, each action with Presence Of Mind. And isn't that Mindfulness? And like muscle memory in yoga, there is a memory in my mind that this sits neatly and comfortably into. I have done this before. It's good to see you, my old friend.

I am not fully clear, fully aware, and may never achieve this, but the opening lines of the above linked article just about sums it up: "I can't tell you exactly when it occurred. My shift, I mean. My transition from being someone who does yoga to being someone who believes yoga, imbibes yoga, embodies yoga."

And this belief, for me, also applies to Mindfulness. I believe Mindfulness. I believe it to be something more positively powerful than we can imagine.

 "It’s now—as we interact with our children, as we smile at a stranger, as we choose to forgive—that our practice radiates and resonates."  


As we interact with our children. As we smile at a stranger. As we choose to forgive.

As we choose.