I, as I have quite openly stated here and elsewhere, am clearly not a guru.
I am searching for enlightenment, which is ironic, given that most of the time I can’t find my phone.
At this moment, I think I know where my phone is, but I can’t find my driver’s license. I actually remember finding it in my coat pocket (where I put it when I drove to yoga class yesterday and didn’t want to take my whole wallet) and thinking that this really wasn’t a good nor reasonable place for a driver’s license, so I promptly removed it. And put it. Well. Somewhere.
Yesterday I forgot to go to something that was really important for one of my students. I’m still kicking myself, which really goes against the spirit of my post from yesterday, during which I vowed not to harbor negative thoughts and to realize that at any given moment I was doing my best.
But I forgot something important, regarding someone I care quite a bit about and who was counting on me, and my best, frankly, was Not. Good. Enough.
So this brings me to what I am:
I have too many things in my head and too many balls in the air Every Single Moment, even when I vow to sit on the couch and watch mindless television. Instead I’m ordering Tshirts for stepson’s birthday and butterfly bell chimes for our back yard if it ever decides to stop snowing and become spring and summer and a beautiful stained glass lamp for my piano room that I will build as soon as I get my inheritance and the bank stops dinking around on our home equity loan.
Not feeling very guru like, but am feeling very happy — is that ironic?
I’m flaky, and disorganized, and I’m always trying to do too many things (including keeping up two blogs), and to pay attention to my Husband whomIlovemorethananything and Only Daughter who is the girl I always wanted and so incredibly adolescent either Husband or I or both will probably have run away from home by the time she is 14.
And I am incredibly, blissfully happy.
I also recently discovered that two of my favorite bloggers: Sarah at the Good Life Farm and Sarah at Redamancy Lit, are actually the same people. I don’t know why this makes me so happy, but it does. Here is someone who is raising a daughter on a farm and posts wonderful, delicious, healthful recipes THAT ALWAYS TURN OUT and who posts beautiful snippets of writing from some of the best authors of all time AND SHE’S THE SAME PERSON.
I want to make friends with her, but I’m afraid she’s going to think I’m a stalker.
Anyway, she has this excerpt from a Chinese poem that has popped up repeatedly for me over the past few weeks, and I think it is suitable to our exercise (you all remember what that is, right?) I will include it in its entirety:
From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted “Peaches.”
From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
To take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
– Li-Young Lee, From Blossoms
Read it slowly out loud to someone you love. And try not to cry.
Or cry. Either one is fine. Either one is good. Either one.