I am a tree–ok, I was a tree.  This time I’m a walking tree.  They are my kin and comfort me when my walk on this human path seems so rocky, muddy, foggy and I stumble.  Whether a tree or a human merely being, how am I to be the sky?  The endless blue background of emptiness, everything and nothingness at the same time.  letting the clouds of each day roll by or rain without comment.

How do I center in the spirit when I am a cranky squawking crow fighting for my tiny morsel of good on this precious planet?

That is, of course, the question.  And I know the answer, no matter how many times I pretend to forget.

What was I saying?

That’s my current chant.  Helping me to completely be in the present moment of this delightful land, accept the middle of the change, and set the same intention for every future moment.

It is the empty space that is where we live.  The present moment is as empty as the future and past.  We choose to see the past with the hallmarks  of my emotions.  And my ventures into the future rest on the wave of anticipation or anxiety.  But all of these moments are truly empty.  I am a meaning-making machine.

Thus as these keys click, birds chirp, cloudy day wets my deck, I claim that I am never empty handed going into this unknown.  The blank rune has no power over me.

I feel Your whisper at my neck, Your tender encouragement for the challenges, giggle at the fun, unending love always.

The practice of meditation is simply allowing all thoughts to be without judgement, grasping, or consideration.  To watch them float by on the river of the breath, coming into view, bouncing on the intake and outtake of air, and floating gently down the river out of sight and mind.

It is this dear exercise that reminds me to be open.  If I allow each thought to be just the way it is, I can also let it go and be completely open and empty.  Open heart, free mind, loving kindness and free for something completely different.

Like loving Los Angeles.  It can happen.

But today I wrap myself in the love of the thorough steady white sky rain in the forest of Pacific Northwest green quilt comfort.

The task is to take the dear dirt of the planet, seeds and shit, tree and limb, air and dust, growl and song–and combine it with star light.  Eternal, ephemeral and seemingly so far away.    Human and spirit.   Sounds like fun.  So we volunteered vigorously.

Today I find myself dragging this “dear” earth-encased body across the apartment floor to don clothes, prepare for a day of meetings, duties, meals and traipsing through the neighborhood.  For what?

To remind every other dear body of the star within them.  To see nothing but the Light.

Mindfulness sitting in my dear perch looking out at the sunrise over the forest. Birds chattering their morning tribute to sun and food and spring.  Traffic rising and falling against the highway shore beyond sight.  I am not in traffic–brilliant gratefulness overflows.

In this easy morning bliss, I am still puzzled by fears, anxieties and melancholy  A funny way for a magnificent spirit to enjoy this dear piece of earth.

Adventures are made of challenges.  Journeys require packing.  From here to there is often the in-between place.  With infinite grace–here and now.

“No,” she said, “Is a very spiritual world.”  It is also a complete sentence.

It certainly makes one stop and consider the next action, a turn perhaps.  Or a sudden long stop to consider and reflect.

Then again, it is to know when to create a fence.  A wall.  Perhaps a door will appear later, but there are days when the sun outside is deliciously enjoyed from a napsite inside.  Not going out for any thing or any one.

When I give up trying to figure things out, it becomes quite quiet.  The mind keeps nudging me that we are confused.  Then again, I could just be

here and

now

serene.

One of those fallacies of duality hitting me again–should I clarify what I believe I need in a relationship, or let absolute self-love wash over me and see that I can love myself with the Divine Friend more than anyone else can be required to give.

In codependent recovery, it is important to see where I am nourished and where I am not nourished.  And to not expect much rain in a desert of a narcissist friend.  Friend?  Acquaintance.  Family member.  Kin.  Old soul group member more precisely.

What are we polishing in ourselves this time?

And if I have to ask you for nourishment, would what you give me ever really be nourishing?  Or is the act of asking the very nourishment I give myself.

Pairs of ducks for sure.

My room looks out onto my forest.  It is my forest, I rarely see anyone else walking.  My trees, my path, my seasons, my deep green.  I met the Deva of this forest this morning and burst into tears at Her beauty.  She reminded me how One-der-full we are–together.

What an amazing endeavor, putting body and soul as One!  Thought and spirit twisted up so tightly in blood, bones and muscles-wood, water and firelight of the sun.  Breath from the green to me and back to the leaves who lap it up.  Brilliant incomprehensible engineering.

Then there is the impressive hilarity of how I forget this in the next moment.  The Divine You seems so far away, the tiny me so flat and dusty.

Feet on the path.  I walk.

The void is so puzzling.  that moment between moments where nothing is required, no need is hammering at the door, no sadness distracting, no anticipation jumping up in the room waving its hands.  Just the quiet.  How do those trees do it!?

I’m just not used to eternity.  Even though it giggles at me through the loose ends in my afghan, is in the waves of distant traffic, and stands tall in the tiniest tree.

I have volunteered for here and now and action and body and feelings and thoughts and “what’s next?”  No going back now.

Thus I reach out to the Divine.  I clothe Her in a heavenly soft shawl.  She wraps me in Her arms, whispers sweet nothings and everthings in my ear.  And I follow Her everywhere.

No time to write  So I will ramble.  Too much to eat and too little sleep makes me a cranky girl.

Trees don’t care.  Flip their chartreuse new hairdos at me giggling.  Mowers whine in the distance.  Crows, as usual, complain about it all.

I was kissed by the Goddess this morning.  That is what I choose to claim today.