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We had rain overnight, gentle drizzle. It's so odd to have rain here when it's warm enough to comfortably have the windows open.
I'm back to trying to figure out when i should be in the office and when not. I had someone skype me moments ago asking if i could be in a 9 am meeting tomorrow, which is when i can drive to the office. It took us a back and forth to realize it's a 9 am Eastern meeting, 6 am my time. I still am blocked to driving in at 9 then or missing my 8 and 8:30 am meetings. Meal eating and commute times seem to appear and disappear like gaps on those sliding block puzzles.
I suppose i should try and get an optometrist appointment today for next week before things go all slidy-block there.
I don't feel reflective, so i lift Plain Living: A Quaker Path to Simplicity off my desk shelf with a little prayer. The bookmark is at three queries:
Do i make time in my life to remember the divine purpose behind each of my tasks?
Do i seek to simplify my life by listening to guidance from an inward holy center?
What promotes and what hinders my search for inward simplicity?
My frustration takes form in my mind. A big angular rock, a boulder, sitting in the path of my inner garden. The meditation garden in the center of my meditative mandala has always had a formal nature to it. It's square, and the paths have been the most concrete elements in my mind. A circular path, paved with rune carved flagstones, marks out the wheel of the year and the path i take as i reflect on the four directions. The square has been bisected twice on the diagonals by straight paths, and then at the center is some "feature:" birdbath? altar? That "center" is rarely used, as in the non-physical space of the meditation mandala the "center" i turn to at the end of my meditation is a huge spreading world tree on a gentle hill, under a starlit sky.
The formal garden has been run over by the rhyzomatic lilly like plant that is Joy. I forget to care for it and, and allow the mundane life to trample the space, and the plant dies back. As soon as i mend the fences, attend to my boundaries, and water the dusty garden, the Joy can come back. It is so hearty!
Today, as i read those queries, i sense the boulder of frustration in the path. I will it not to be on the wheel of the year path: i don't want that path disrupted. I accept my frustration on the straight formal paths, and ponder moving the stone. And then i realize, if i had a garden with rocks, i would design around the rocks, accepting them as part of the garden, not trying to move them.
I consider my frustration and accept that this entry into my meditation is changing. The formal garden i imagined fifteen some years ago expresses a sense of imposed order. I'm learning that this imposed linear order is not the order of simplicity, but an order that involves wrestling against the way things are. I imagine sitting on the boulder and speculating how to make it a beautiful part of the garden, imagining the contrast of the green lancate leaves of Joy against the rough black and white stone.
I'm back to trying to figure out when i should be in the office and when not. I had someone skype me moments ago asking if i could be in a 9 am meeting tomorrow, which is when i can drive to the office. It took us a back and forth to realize it's a 9 am Eastern meeting, 6 am my time. I still am blocked to driving in at 9 then or missing my 8 and 8:30 am meetings. Meal eating and commute times seem to appear and disappear like gaps on those sliding block puzzles.
I suppose i should try and get an optometrist appointment today for next week before things go all slidy-block there.
I don't feel reflective, so i lift Plain Living: A Quaker Path to Simplicity off my desk shelf with a little prayer. The bookmark is at three queries:
Do i make time in my life to remember the divine purpose behind each of my tasks?
Do i seek to simplify my life by listening to guidance from an inward holy center?
What promotes and what hinders my search for inward simplicity?
My frustration takes form in my mind. A big angular rock, a boulder, sitting in the path of my inner garden. The meditation garden in the center of my meditative mandala has always had a formal nature to it. It's square, and the paths have been the most concrete elements in my mind. A circular path, paved with rune carved flagstones, marks out the wheel of the year and the path i take as i reflect on the four directions. The square has been bisected twice on the diagonals by straight paths, and then at the center is some "feature:" birdbath? altar? That "center" is rarely used, as in the non-physical space of the meditation mandala the "center" i turn to at the end of my meditation is a huge spreading world tree on a gentle hill, under a starlit sky.
The formal garden has been run over by the rhyzomatic lilly like plant that is Joy. I forget to care for it and, and allow the mundane life to trample the space, and the plant dies back. As soon as i mend the fences, attend to my boundaries, and water the dusty garden, the Joy can come back. It is so hearty!
Today, as i read those queries, i sense the boulder of frustration in the path. I will it not to be on the wheel of the year path: i don't want that path disrupted. I accept my frustration on the straight formal paths, and ponder moving the stone. And then i realize, if i had a garden with rocks, i would design around the rocks, accepting them as part of the garden, not trying to move them.
I consider my frustration and accept that this entry into my meditation is changing. The formal garden i imagined fifteen some years ago expresses a sense of imposed order. I'm learning that this imposed linear order is not the order of simplicity, but an order that involves wrestling against the way things are. I imagine sitting on the boulder and speculating how to make it a beautiful part of the garden, imagining the contrast of the green lancate leaves of Joy against the rough black and white stone.
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