All lake photos on this post date back to the last time I had started writing to you but got interrupted which would be right after September Squam.
Um, you know– six months ago.
There were also a bunch of words but I deleted all that. They were old and if I have any kind of credo for blogging (full disclosure: I have no credo for blogging) I can only share what is of the day, of the moment, of the hour.
Blogging is, for me, truly online journaling. I sit down at the laptop and type.
Live streaming, as it were.
Today is a Tuesday. Late morning. Dogs and I got up at 5 am as per usual. Went across the street in the dark to let them investigate diminishing snow banks. Came in to hot coffee topped with foamy almond milk and sprinkled with cinnamon. They eat their breakfast like animals, no savoring, no slow paced conversation to punctuate mouthfuls. Water slurped noisily they come and curl in around me.
We sit. Me in the white chair, cross-legged. Candles lit, a thread of white sage smoke curls up to the ceiling. Later, I take them to the woods where we walk through the perfect stillness of snow and early morning light.
Right now? I am sitting upstairs in my new living space that has also become Squam HQ once again.
That sentence alone has about six months of stories laced through it, but I can’t go backwards today. If I am going to climb into the saddle here I must move forward. And so here’s what I scribbled in my journal a few hours ago:
if I ever got a tattoo it would be of cabbages
the touchstone reminder alike in success + failure
curious only to witness the flow of life.
work for the beauty of the action alone
no concern for the outcome
When Death comes for me, let it find me in my garden
planting cabbages. Equally indifferent to death
and, to the fate of my cabbages.
I no longer clutch at people for support
I no longer cling to pleasure
I no longer depend on appreciation
I am satisfied in and by my self alone.
I live my life. I create as much physical beauty around me as I can. My radio channel is set to kindness. My day, my routines are as simple as possible. When I engage in creative projects the intention is clear: I do it for the process, the joy of the doing. All attachment to the outcome is down the street somewhere chatting it up with the neighbors — nowhere in my space.
Sometimes the project succeeds, sometimes the project fails, always I am ready to meet Death with a smile, satisfied that in this day, in this moment, I was awake.
Alive. Fully conscious of the magic of this dream. Ever ever ever drenched in gratitude.
p.s. from my old friend Emerson: