Wouldn’t it be nice if we had no hooks?  No buttons, no triggers, no wounds that get inadvertently bumped by someone else’s wound acting up?  Wound against wound, fear screaming at fear; it is such a tiresome useless game.  But here we are, human experiments, free will and struggle our bouncing balls.

I pull away from the game.  I now sit in the stands and watch myself unskillfully believe that once I get this match, this score, this retort, this solution–I will “win” and will be done with the game.  But it is a tournament, and there is always the next competition.  Perhaps I will stay out of the court for a while.  Just sit here and watch the wind.

The wind does not keep score.  The brown dead blossom bodies hanging from the fruitless cherry tree are not hostages in a war.  Neither are the red glistening full cherries in my back yard a success and achievement.

I claim today to be the wind without hooks or triggers or buttons.  I am soft and free, smooth and easy, slippery like a fish in the eternal ocean of Your always everywhere love.

I am the breeze today.  Flowing through the forest, bending branches, bowing grass and clapping poplar leaves is me.  I claim that ease, caressing Her as She gently touches my face. Gaia resplendent in shining deep green, canopy of trees shade me and hint at the universe at their height.

The gift I was given today was Her voice: “I have turned your arrogance into love.”  Tears of relief and endless freedom to love you–whoever you are.  As much as I love Her.  And Him.  And It.  And All That Is that hummmms with hOHMMMMMM.

I carry your heart in my heart, as ee cummings said.  That is why we resonate like the eternal music of the spheres.  I carry You and you and you in my heart.

Excitement holds the same body signs as anxiety.  I am determined to translate “overwhelming” into “abundant opportunities.”  Ahuh, yeah.  And the slow body, well, we’ll shift that into “taking it easy.”

[In the middle here, I’ll update you that besides adding a comment, you can connect w/me (and arrange any astrology, tarot, spiritual coaching session) via the email: [email protected].  Updating the rest of my dear lovely website is still in the conception stage.]

Back to this spiritual tune-up for the day.  One thing at a time.  The Next Indicated Thing is like nit-picking.  Anyone who has ever had the tedious job of combing out lice eggs from a child’s hair knows that you need a comb with very fine teeth and lots and lots of calm quiet patience.  That’s my life right now. 

I have a comb of deepening faith that allows me to slowly and comfortably answer each call, return messages, mow the lawn, clean, organize, schedule and arrange, meditate and listen–one thing at a time.  Flowers are never overwhelmed.  Bushes reach up for the sun unfolding brilliant shiny green leaves like a turn of a symphony and the lilt of monks chanting in the sun.

My walk is slow, one step at a time, going nowhere in peace and tender Presence, hand in my hand.

Thank you for the presence, the Presence, of water droplets sparkling on ripe green leaves amid a tangle of bushes.  Will they dry up, be soaked in, fall off?  It doesn’t matter.  They shine for me, remind me to shine for them.  Branches and tender vermillion reach out in the path to touch me as I pass.  We are the Beloved.

Two days spent in a booth at a fair, a scooting fool–talking about scooters and reading tarot.  You were there, and I dove into Your eyes.  When you had those furrowed brows and folded arms, worried about the right school for your son.  Then when You sat there, silent and scared with your father standing over you and I told you to choose life for yourself.  And then You with your lover, shining smiling glances at each other with each card of life turning over.

Grace, beauty and joy vibrate through my body with this human adventure.  Deep gratitude to be Your flute singing in this solstice dawn.

The constant change is like shifting plates in the earth.  Sometimes creating little tremors and then suddenly all familiar geography of life disappears.  Today I watch the slow erosion of a path growing over, abandoned for another route.  I am cleaning up a storage unit filled with an old life. 

Address books, photos, music sheets, knicknacks, movies and books from a former home, previous career, different state.  Someday someone will do the same to my closets filled with books and papers and cards and photos–all the details will be lost.  Perhaps prized possessions will be found in a second hand store, but most will be recycled into the earth.

Like me.  What a relief to know that my body will rest in Her arms, earth to earth, spirit to Spirit.  I bless the task as I sort out a lifetime, connected endlessly in the continuum of goodness and grace.

The only constant in life is change.  Death, detours, love, creation, constriction, winter, blooming, walking.  On the path, just walking on the path with nowhere to go–delighting on every step.  And it is about the story that we tell to ourselves and others.

A story of family thriving laced with tales of despair and heartache.  Climbing out of piles and piles of hand-me-down history from a family long gone–what use is that but for the story.  Creating better stories, more stories, uplifting inspirations and experience that marks a path we might not want to tread.

In the midst of any and all paths, there is the clearing in my heart that is timeless and motionless.  I sit in the middle of the Way, giggling.

The house is quiet.  I am alone, the pets outside.  The air is easy and I am still.  I soak up the soft nothing, I revel and anchor in the nowhere.  The tree of me is powerful.  My day–the whole day–is right here, right now in the calm of the keys clicking.

Rumi said, “Keep moving, but there is nowhere to go.”  Thanks for that, as sometime the human fear that there is nowhere to go, nothing to do, no one to applaud, no echo of partner, pet or mirror, freezes me.  I sit catatonic in smallness, shrinking with self-abusive anger in comparison to an illusion of you out there.

But this breath here and now doing nothing going nowhere is eternal power shining from my center of the Lady seeded within me, brilliant starlight through my skin, fingers, and like the light from Her magic wand of love, touches you.  Right here, right now.

The regular footsteps on this worn path have revealed the hidden world of roots that tightly lace the poplar forest floor.  Under the tall yellowing grass are tunnels of thriving sap, expanding tendrils and thick braces for towering trees.  That’s the story of faith holding us up beneath the surface.

But faith about what?  Faith that my life is meaningful?  What is the big deal about “meaning”?  I was once taught that life is empty and meaningless, and we are meaning-making machines that build stories.  It’s a useful philosophy, but constantly bumps up against my illusionary human struggle that I am not valuable, not a good enough story (though certainly I’ve made headlines).

I believe I am truly a vessel that is open and filled every moment with the Lady’s Love.  I crave this wine; I dive into Her intoxication; I stumble and babble to everyone around me of Her beauty.  Drunk on the Divine, I am thoroughly in the present moment, twirling and beaming, begging everyone on the street to join me.

The slower I am, the better I go.  The easier I chant, the more gets done.  However, I am wired backwards.  If it is bad for me, I’ll eat it, drink it, do it.  At least that was the wiring that took over after being a “good girl” didn’t work at all for attention.  Then I was as naughty as I could possibly be, and here I am doing that do-gooder thing again.  Pendulum swings and swings.

Feeling the hand of My Friend on my shoulder, “Easy girl.  Whoa there.  Hold on now.  All is well.  All is well.  In all matters of all things, all is well.”  I open the channel of my flute to sing Her praises.

Producing an event takes months of planning, intense week of running around, phone calls, missed lists, reviewing over and over, setting up, anxiety and then hundreds of people.  Like preparing days for a dinner feast, the actual event seems to last 10 minutes and poof–success and exhaustion.

As I was walking in a downtown alley amid the concrete and brick forest, construction cranes asleep standing on one leg, summer sun resting in the west, I saw the dependable future.  Flush purple bursting clover flowers in a wide bush lining the rusted fence.  Instantly a perspective of all my lives, the endless galaxies, hysterical days reduced to recognizing that the weeds would very comfortably take over everything.

If I leave all my troubles behind to walk the alleys and watch the grass crack concrete, I am at peace with All That Is.  My tiny body on a blue-green planet in the outer skirts of a moderate galaxy is right-sized. 

All my actions are a dervish twirling adoring dance for the Divine.