So the Tao is the flow.  And increased consciousness of it lends to easy surfing of life, with its circumstances, abrupt current changes, seasons, gifts, depths and death.  But it is ultimate mystery and can’t be defined or described or identified.

Pair of Ducks.  Paradox.

Perhaps like a koan, it is merely to be enjoyed, with an occasional “duh” and “ahh”.  Not a struggle like a salmon fighting upriver to spawn.  But sitting in a comfortable float, riding down the sweet river, splashing with my feet in the ripples.  Even the salmon might delight in the fight upriver, but that is not this human’s bliss.

A funny flow, this life, thirsty all the time while floating in a clear clean bright nourishing stream.

What the heck is that?! says the Human.  Ahhhh, says the Spirit–so exciting, such an adventure, horribly difficult, often sad, certainly chaotic.  You’ll love it!

hmmmm.

The Tao says that high and low define each other.  What a fascinating path this is to feel the low and recognize the high Way.  My dear feet yearn for soft moss, my energetic eyes seek the mountaintop viewpoint.

Off to a wondrous rainy morning, I bow of the brilliance, to be a tiny grateful being on this sweet planet.

What to do when this human, watching the spirit flow, goes dull?  Plans look lackluster, routines seem tiresome, body natters at me.  The furrows of normal human mind  waves.  Stomach gurgles, aches demand slowing down, murky thoughts obscure the path.

This sitting, soft clicking is a call for the Presence.  Little pinpoints of the day’s delight whisper a song.  Silhouettes of the pines tell me that the darkness is an illusion.  And lo and behold, there is my reflection in the near morning depths.

In the mirroring light of my love, You are revealed.  Your eyes, Your fingers, Your day.  How would You like to spend it Dear One?

“Together,” She says.

Flow is flow.  Life happens, then settles down.  And keeps on happening.  Breath.  Seasons. Nights.  Day.  Light and darkness.  Awake and dream.  Which is which?

Sitting in the fallow of the wave before it rises up again to crest, I sit in pure ease, watching You dance around me.  Memories of You bearing gifts through friends and family.  Reminders of You as the very air that cools my home.

And here for You are the words you send me this morning.  Gratitude and soft acceptance of Your Presence and the waves of this now. And this now.  And that now.  Now.

Onward surfing.

All the leaves on the trees clap their hands.  They do that for me, for humans.  They soak up our breathing out and gift us with the purest fragrance of Her Majesty, Nature.

It is a good time here in this quiet space, silent time.  The clicking of the keys remind me I’m in the room, listening to the Presence.

Let me rest on this planet for more time and space.  Allowing the wonder of the earth flow through me, Divine starlight that I am.

That I would be so still to hear the giggles and gladness in the forest, even as I feel darkness as the path.

Bowing to the Sweet One, I join the audience.

Stir up the waters, She says.  Mix a delicious soup.  Drink it up first and then share it with others.  Love makes waves.  But it starts right here where I am.

In this dark cool morning, I wrap the Divine caress around me and lean into the mystery.  This now is endless and it will disappear into this now, and this now and then.

Photographs in the hallway show smiles long gone.  Mystery of those nows rippling into the brilliant silence of here and now.

I am determined to make ripples wherever I am. Now.

I am a process consisting of polarities with an allegiance to a single principle.

Can I love my mind like the river?

Only when I am free from desire can I imbibe in the mystery.

Fill me up drunk with Your confusing love.

I wonder if i can claim that today.  Letting things come as they do naturally, and making choices at every breath from this sluggish spot.  I don’t want to take a shower–to go to a cold room, proceed with myriad actions to make myself presentable to those I would lead and interact.

Maybe I’ll call in sick and search for another book escape, curl up on the couch or a favorite chair, a cup of tea and endless fantasy.  Creak my bones and body just to find another comfortable position.

If we accept everything, where is the purpose of a driving force?  To change the world–hilarious.  To help someone–done that for years.  Am I done with that?  Take care of myself?  Why bother?  I will fade like any other flower–beautiful or deformed.

My readings obviously don’t inspire me today, so I will have to lean on my Elephant God, or the strength of a Divine water buffalo sized cow.  Keep me in the center of Your herd.  Nuzzle me forward like a newborn to water.  Push me to a standing poise and lick my face with Your warm loving tongue.  I close my eyes and am comforted by You.

Lots of debate goes on between philosophies and religion if there are really gods.  But most religions belief in angels.  Why not just hang with them.  Messengers of compassion telling us to lighten up and fly with this human experience.

I like having gods, they are beautiful, strong, smart, ever-present and loving.  Even if this is a pointedness of my focus on the Higher Self within or the Tao flow beyond all images–I’m a human.  I like that I might be in the image of a higher being, that it believes in my–my tiny self on this hurling rock on the edge of a minor universe with billions of others bumping along.

The thought that she rises from the lotus within to rest her head on my shoulder as i write about Her, Her soft giggle when I tell you today she has tossled red curls, is ageless and dressed in yellow flowered silk pajamas–this image of love creates a smile and leads my day.

I have six of them actually, and just visited with four of six.  Unlike the Borg, they are quite individual and distinct.  One is a big game scout now managing a deer farm for armchair hunters.  Another brother owns almost 10 small planes including a 1930s bright red Waco biplane-oh, and a sweet little dog Jelly.  Then a younger one manages multi-million dollar projects with emerging cellphone technologies.  And then there’s the brother in prison.

Stories of dysfunction and fun surround me bumping up against my heart from all directions.  Perhaps I should just keep with gratitude that right here, right now, they are safe and connected. 

We are here–I am here–it seems, just to do this up and down living, hurting, dying, laughing life as emissaries for the Divine.

Well, I’m checking in, Lover inside of me, that brothers are a good idea.