I’ve examined my options as they are perceived now, from my lofty now, my grounded now and find I have a pleasant preference for this 11. I do believe it suits me.
This morning I went out to my pondering walkway. I said good morning trees. Good morning sky. Good morning … hey, where’s the birds. Hey, Mama, hey Universe, where’s the birds? Out came a neighbor that reminds me of an angel I once knew and up overhead, high in the sky, a hawk flew. I said good morning! Thank you! And the hawk flapped it’s wings twice, “you’re welcome”.
So many other beatifics, so many …
But yesterday? Yesterday was fierce. The remnants of stuff being cleared, remaining steadfast through the purging, releasing, breathing through it so I would not become attached again. Feeling the emotion without identifying, without becoming it. As I resist becoming it, assign no action to it, the grip of the past and all it’s accompanying identities loosens. So that, as the new dawn rises, the new breath to savor in the morning rain, I am one with it’s presence, reflecting my presence, reflecting now.