Sometimes life feels pretty easy. Some other times, not so much. I could probably stop right there, it is a complete thought.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I start down the marsh trail leaning more heavily on my cane than on most mornings. Pain. It is what it is. It is mostly managed. The path ahead appears deserted, but the handful of cars in the parking lot when I arrived tell a different story. I don’t much feel like seeing or talking with people – strangers or otherwise. The stormy looking sky suits my mood and the pain I’m in.
Sometimes the path ahead is not obvious.
I walk with my thoughts until I get to my usual halfway point on this trail. There are photographers set up there. Birdwatchers, probably. I didn’t ask, I just walked on. I give a casual wave to someone who waved at me. No one speaks; I don’t want to have conversation, and they don’t want to disturb the wildlife.
I woke too early. I woke already in pain. I’m not saying so to complain about it, it’s just an observation and a potential explanation for my shitty mood this morning. I don’t plan to let either the pain or my dark mood take over my day, although it isn’t always easy (or reliably successful) to change course. Emotions are complicated. For now, this is the experience I’m having. “The way out is through,” I remind myself, and I keep walking.
“Emotion and Reason” 18″ x 24″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic and glow. 2012
I get to a fork in the path. There’s a convenient rock to sit on, and I am alone. I reflect on paths and journeys, on beginnings and endings, and on how difficult uncertainty makes decisions. I sigh to myself and sit with my thoughts awhile. I ignore the silent tears that well up and slide down my cheeks. A brief moment of sunshine doesn’t last, and the morning returns to shades of gray.
I write for some little while, without ever nearing any sort of useful conclusion. My thoughts are mostly my own, this morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Every time my mind begins to sink into meditation, the tears begin, slow and steady. I know this is probably telling me something, but I’m less certain I want to deal with whatever emotional mess is percolating up from within. I let it go, and let it go again. It is a new day, and I’ve got options. I sigh quietly. “Choose wisely,” I remind myself. The menu of the Strange Diner is vast. I don’t have to stay in the mire.
I start to feel stiff as I sit here. No wise woman on a mountain to consult with, only a mirror, and a moment, a woman, and a path. I get to my feet feeling cross about pain and mortality. I turn and look down the path. I can’t see beyond the next bend, and reluctantly I begin again.
I woke shortly before my lights would have come on to start the day. My Traveling Partner was already awake. He invited me to join him for a coffee and to listen to an album he had found for me.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
I tend to be a creature of habit. This is an intentional choice, with a clear purpose in mind; it prevents my life from falling apart due to consequences of brain damage and poor memory. It is one of many practical strategies and self-nurturing practices. Here’s the thing though; life is not “on rails”. The path is not a fixed determined way leading to a clearly identified destination. Life is an experience, and the menu of The Strange Diner is vast. We have options. Choices.
I chose coffee with my beloved. I start the sprinkler, and make us some coffee. He starts the music once I sit down. Oh, nice! A Muslimgauze album I haven’t heard! An “archival release” from 2016, so… posthumously. We listen together, drinking coffee. I’m enjoying it so completely I lose track of time – and I’m okay with that; I chose to embrace the moment.
Daylight on the trail.
When I start my walk, it is later in the morning. I’m okay with that, too. I’ve got time. Moments are precious and fleeting, and I do my best to make wise choices and face life and change with a measure of openness. It’s one of my “big 5” values. Openness balances routine and habit pretty well, and tends to prevent my thinking from becoming stale or rigid. Helpful, because I definitely don’t know everything, and most things in life are just not even “about me”.
I get to my halfway point wearing a smile and feeling relaxed and unbothered. I hear sirens in the distance; some other human being is having a pretty bad day, it sounds like. Out of long practiced habit, I wish them well from afar. It could have been me, and if it had been I’d appreciate some kindness, I know. “Thoughts and prayers” are not the most effective ways of handling an emergency, but what we carry in our thoughts and in our hearts does matter…it defines who we are when we are alone with ourselves.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, still hearing the music in my memory of the morning. I reflect on life and love and openness as a lived value. I’m glad I said “yes” to coffee with my beloved Traveling Partner. It was a great beginning to a new day.
I sit awhile in the Spring sunshine. A moment, a smile, and a good spot from which to begin a new day.
It is a new day. My birthday is behind me, and a new year waits ahead of me.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
A robin greets the day as I water the garden.
I get to the more distant trailhead for the marsh trail that travels past the Tualatin River. Yesterday was the trail at Spring Valley. Tomorrow the trail at Basket Slough. After that, a couple days of painting on the coast. What an extraordinary birthday celebration. I love how much it has been more about presence and experiences than presents. I didn’t go without gifts, happily, and I’ve got quite a delightful stack of new books to read.
Software upgrades for a human primate.
63 was a good year, generally speaking. I wonder what awaits me in the year ahead?
Finally learning to play chess.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a beautiful morning. The clock is ticking. It’s time to begin again.
I head down the road to a welcoming quiet trail along the Willamette River, singing a favorite rather poignant love song out loud, acapella, and probably off key. Doesn’t matter, what matters is the meaning of the heartfelt words. Love is perhaps the most human and humbling of experiences.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
… But what do I even know? I’m just one woman living a mortal life…
I watch the sun rise as I drive to the trailhead singing love songs badly on my birthday. I arrive at this beautiful place, with my thoughts and my baggage, and hoping to do a better job of being the woman I most want to be without compromise or regret in the year to come.
Every dawn is a chance to begin again and to make the choices to be (and become) the person we most want to be.
I start down the trail and immediately find myself facing a choice. That’s often how things go. We make a lot of choices in life. Many of those will turn out to have been poor choices, once we’re further down the path life takes us, sometimes it’s hard to know when we make the choice. Ideally we learn from the experience and do something different next time. Doesn’t always work out that way… it’s a very human experience.
Go left or go right? It’s a simple choice, and either way this trail will bring me back to this place. Yes, it’s a metaphor.
I walk on. Does it matter what my choice was? Sure, it matters. My perspective will change based on my choice. I’ll see the world and my own circumstances quite differently perhaps. I walk on down the trail with my thoughts, enjoying the blue sky overhead and the many hues and shades of green. The meadow smells of Spring flowers: clover, blackberries, wild cucumber and wild carrot, various meadow flowers for which I lack names.
A robin on a fence post.
Snails, rabbits, robins, squirrels, chipmunks, a small fast lizard, a garter snake, bluejays… I stay alert as I walk. This beautiful place is home for a lot of creatures. This is a pleasant beginning for my birthday. I’ve taken today off, and also three days next week. I’ve got two of those planned for a bit of solitary time on the coast, the rest I will spend with my beloved, as much of it as he has patience for. It will be time well spent, it generally is. He’s smart and funny (and having his own experience). I’m grateful for the time we share in this too brief mortal life.
I find a pleasant spot to stop awhile, to write and to reflect on the year that has passed and to contemplate the year ahead. I could do with less chaos and turmoil. Less sheer willpower pushing me to complete tasks and more thoughtful self-care would be good, too. Doing a more skillful job of listening and loving would be a good choice, with less waiting to talk or being pissed off about dumb shit.
You know what is harder than practicing mindfulness? Living mindfully. You know what is more complicated than living mindfully? Loving mindfully. The amount of vulnerability and openness required is…much. The patience, kindness, and compassion involved are hard to overstate. The listening. The acceptance. The self-awareness. All of it takes practice. I fail a lot. I begin again over and over. I keep practicing. Incremental change over time is something I know I can count on, but it can be slow.
… And the clock is always ticking…
It’s about the journey, though, these precious mortal moments aren’t obstacles, they are the main event. I sit watching the sunlight change the green hues of the forest and the shrubs along the trail with seemingly infinite variety. There’s something to learn from sunlight through leaves. The trees and shrubs are what they are, it is the light that tranforms them. I sit with the thought awhile.
Shades of green on a Spring morning.
Three dogs run up the path, chasing each other playfully and darting in an out of the meadow, chasing each other, and the small rabbits hiding in the grass. A man approaches on the trail. “They’re friendly!” he calls to me. He’s loud. I’m not interested in conversation. I wave but don’t speak. I’m annoyed by the dogs being unleashed. The park signage is quite clear that dogs need to be on a leash, here. This man chose to behave differently. He doesn’t even have leashes with him.
… I find myself thinking about behavior vs feelings, and behavior vs intentions. We make so many choices in how we behave. I consider my own choices and behavior. How can I do a better job of reliably choosing the best behavior, moment to moment? This is worth considering.
A little while later (must be that time of morning), a woman approaches with three dogs, leashed. They are quite large, and well-behaved. They walk calmly alongside her. She stops occasionally to let them check out the scents along the trail. She waves politely as she approaches, but doesn’t break the beautiful stillness and quiet with loud greetings. I wave back. There is discipline and intention evident in her behavior and that of her dogs.
People making choices.
I watch to see which path the dog walkers will take. I’ll go down a different path, when I resume walking. I’m making choices, too. I breathe, exhale, and relax. It’s a nice morning for meditation, and a nice morning to begin again.
I wish myself a happy birthday, and let my thoughts wander on as the sun rises through the shades of blue and green.
I woke from a strange dream to the light of my morning alarm. In my dream, I was standing in the morning sunshine in front of a favorite cafe from many years ago and very far from where I live now (I didn’t notice that, it was a dream after all). A sport car pulled up next to me, convertible top down, and it was full of old friends. “We’re seeking enlightenment,” someone called to me, “get in!”
I stepped towards the car and as I did, it became a bus, and I stepped on board. The door snapped closed and I realized I hadn’t had time to get my coffee… and I woke.
[No AI is used in writing or editing this blog. This is human content for human readers.]
…Seeking enlightenment…
Enlightenment isn’t likely to be found on a road trip with ones friends… but it could be, maybe. That’s the thing, isn’t it? One can endlessly seek enlightenment and never ever find it; it isn’t an external point on a map, or available as a option on a luxury getaway. People who say they’ve found it, generally haven’t. It’s not available as a course, although it’s often packaged and sold as though it could be purchased. Read all the books – it may not be enough. Follow any holy seeming teacher – it may not result in the knowledge you think you’re seeking. As with happiness, it doesn’t do to chase enlightenment, because that just isn’t the way to achieve it.
… I didn’t say (and don’t claim) that I know the way, nor that I have become enlightened. I’m not here for that. I’m just thinking about a strange dream.
As I walk down the trail this morning, I think about the friends I saw on the “bus to enlightenment” in my dream. No one from my childhood at all. A couple of soldiers who deployed with me during the war, seated in the back of the bus, neither of whom exist in this mortal life now. Up front, dear friends from my Fresno days, and a friend or two I made later on, in other places. The thing they all shared in common was that I consider them all to have been very close and dear friends, but it’s been many years since I’ve been in touch at all. I think about that as I walk. History. Proximity. Perspective. I keep walking.
Morning light
… I may never find enlightenment, but I’ve enjoyed the company of some extraordinary travelers along the way…
I feel fortunate to have enjoyed so many good friendships, and occasional moments of epiphany that felt very much as though I had been “illuminated from within”, however briefly. It has been enough. More than enough, I’ve been very fortunate.
I watch the sunrise illuminate the oaks. I sit at my halfway point on my walk, and perhaps in life (if I’m lucky), reflecting on enlightenment, and wondering how many of the travelers on the “bus to enlightenment” are now deceased? At least two, maybe more, I haven’t stayed in touch, and it’s possible I would not have been told. A grim shiver runs up my spine. I’m glad I woke. I’m not ready to ride that bus. Not yet.
I breathe, exhale, and relax, and remind myself to reach out to old friends while I can. The clock is ticking. I look down the trail. It curves away into an unknown moment ahead, just around that bend… and it’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 