Sometimes I feel like writing poetry.  Sometimes I feel like sludge.  So, am I blind to the brilliance on some days, or just sitting in the fallow of the wave’s wake.  When nothing is happening, something is gaining power to rise up and crash over the day, week, year, my life to pound the rocks of me into powdered sand.

They say if I keep my eye on the Tao, I will see beyond is and is not.  But is seeing “beyond” not being in the present?  If the here and now is puzzling, hurtful or down-right boring, and I go to the Oneness within and throughout the “now”, am I avoiding the true human moment of sitting?  No where to go, nothing to do.  Just dull wonder.

Well, it’s not as fun as being a bird sitting on Her shoulders, blue, tiny, gentle chirpping with the deep and delightful honor of being so close to Her smile.

So there is a theory that the gods can’t do anything on earth except through our open willing hearts.  I’m not sure that’s true–nature is always open and willing and much happens on that scale. 

However, I’m willing to play the game.  I open my heart for the goodness and grace to come through today.  She uses my hands, plays with my feelings, wrestles with my mind and covers me with peace as she has Her Way with me.

This thought relaxes my shoulders.  I lean back into the day.

I claim the steady grace of a pine tree today.  Furry arms gently curved towards heaven.  Tip top straight arrow sure.  tall trunk wide and covered with rough waves of wood skin.  Swaying like a tired sensual tango dancer in the dark.

As I drive by the forest lining the road, I let the brushes of these Divine branches comb through my messy brain, feel it tingle my scalp, straightening out my tangled mental hairs.

I bow to the wisdom of allowing the seasons have their way without a fight.  I honor the precious tiny flowers at your feet.  My whole heart opens to the quiet.

When the wind starts blowing around me, I have to remember to stay in the center.  When I don’t know where to go or what to do, even what to think, I need to sit in the center and let the next right action come up to me.

However, sometimes I feel so lazy. Not moving at all and distracting myself with junk books, scrabble and sleep.  I’ve never been much for long-term goals and delayed satisfaction.

So I guess I’ll have to go for the instant zen that is at the center.  And as they say, “everywhere is the center of a circle.”

Rather than trusting the part of me that whines about the doldrums and harps on the mistakes, I want to relish the good things.  I want to be hypnotized by the memories of fun, enticed by dreams of accomplishment.  But the default always seems to be dull trudging.

What’s a human to do? 

Just the practice of knowing that it is a hallucination, all bad, and reminding the hungry horse of a heart to face the hay, the sustenance of comfort that the inner pasture of peace provides.  there can be years of arguments that the good too is an illusion, but I am convinced that it is a more pleasant choice.

So today, amid feelings of abandonment, trudging, uselessness, I choose the grandeur of a desert canyon in the dawn coral sun.  I claim the brilliant symphony of the pre-dawn birds from the forest as I sit in a field overlooking the lake and the mountains. 

And I wrap loving arms around me, hear Her soft singing as She rocks me in the lullaby of her love.

I’m supposed to feel my feelings.  No be distracted with doing all the time.  Just sit there.  Here.  But the next ation comes up to my feet and meows incessantly for me to breathe, fix, move, plan, clean, pay, talk.

How can a human, merely being, create the spirit–or at least be aware of the spirit inside–by doing nothing.  Sure, it shows up.  We are obviously more than the sum of our parts.  But now what?  What to do with immense universal-sized spirit in a little blob of protoplasm among billions on the tiny (but beautiful) third rock from a smallish sun in a mid-sized galaxy at the edge of a roaming universe.

Just be I guess.

A double-whammy for sure.  With a voice that is desperate to escape from feelings and driven to help others, the addict and the codependent inside of me are very close.  They skip arm in arm through my day making loud suggestions as to my next action.

“Doing is what humans are!” they say.  “No matter what you are feeling you inevitably have to do something about it!”  “You are an emotional mess and that’s what always gets you in trouble–so just DO, don’t sit and FEEL!”  “And when you DO for others, you’ll go straight to heaven.”

Phew.  Noisy noisy nosy twins.  But it is true, I breathe more than feel.  If I don’t eat, I die.  And every moment of the day there is a relationship that is around the corner that needs some kind of attention: boss, cat, traffic, partner, gas attendant. 

They say that if I feel my own feelings and take care of myself that relationships and my “doing” will come from peace and serenity.  HA!  Now the voices are laughing, wondering if “they” are really being human after all.

Feeling peace and acceptance here for a second.  Off to be a serene human playing well with others.

It’s hard to empty the mind.  It has been taught so well to compare, judge, figure out, assume, predict, complain, and catastrophize.  Trying to protect me against buffalo herds, falling rocks and traffic.

But the Tao says to empty the mind and watch the wonder of the world, detach from the turmoil and allow the deep peace fill my body.  What a practice.  I wonder if anyone ever really gets it right.

Lucky for us, “getting it right” is not what it is about.  It is about the practice, the joy of the game.  Today’s game is to fall back into serenity at every other moment, resting in the Arms of a Lover.

What good is it anyway?  Hurt head, achy hand.  Throbbing muscles, spasms in nerves. 

No matter.  “Offer it up,” I hear my grandmother say.  To whom and why?  I have set aside the rescuing God that needs to be fatally wounded for me.  Thus, I think twice about sacrirficing myself for others.  It is a switch in principles.

So pain is an indication in the body that something is out of balance.  An instinct?  A tendency to hold my head a certain way?  Bad glasses?

Why is it that the hypnotic fatalistic brain goes to whining about brain cancer and imminent death. Well, that’s is fear, as the mind won’t travel with the spirit after the body dissolves.

Today I call on the gentle touch of Her fingertips on my brow.  I rest under the calm touch of Her hands on my shoulders.  No matter where the mind or I go, She brings harmony and peace.