Thanksgiving Monday. All is well. The snow is falling gently on the spruce trees. The Buddhas sits unperturded, breathing in and out, beneath their branches. The earth is in repose, having worked hard all these days. I hear its rhythmic breathing along with the Buddhas. I do likewise. In 1 2 3 4. Hold 1 2 3 4 5 6 7. Out 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. It’s so restful. Letting it all go.
For all the talk about letting go, I’ve just come to understand what it means. I suppose it’s the same with so many things. As we grow older, gathering moss and wisdom, our perceptions shift along with our body parts. We are the same and yet not the same. I see that now. There’s no need to berate myself for being stupid, dumb and all the other things. If I had known better back then, I would have done better then. But I didn’t. So here I am now. Resting. Restoring. Relaxing.
I’m giving thanks for the life I have. I’m grateful for this journey of hardships and wonderment. Sometimes it’s difficult for me to grasp that I was born a village girl in China, delivered by a midwife at home. Born but with no piece of paper called a birth certificate. I, myself am testament enough. Look at where I am now. Maybe that’s why I rant so much. I’ve been crying, I’m here! I’m here! all my life. It is to be heard. I like to say I will rant no more, but that’s most unlikely.
But I AM understanding and knowing about letting go. I’m learning from nature. Every year when it is time, the trees let go of their leaves, the flowers give up their blooms to seeds. The plants and animals go into hibernation. Now, when it is time for me to let go of ‘stuff’, I close my eyes and see myself as a tree, dropping its leaves. I hear Nat King Cole singing, Autumn Leaves.
I was clearly ranting yesterday. I was not raining on anyone’s parade except my own. I like to say I’m uncranked but not yet. It lingers yet. I could be coming or is down with something. Maybe it IS who I am. I don’t have to act it out. I can just grumble (quietly and politely) here. It’s a nice sunny day and it is Thanksgiving Sunday. I am full of gratitude for my life and what I have – a roof over my head and food on the table. I am also thankful that someone else is cooking the turkey. I am providing the salad. It is a contribution albeit a small one.
Although I am grateful, I am not a fan of gratitude or bucket lists. I hope no one feels offended and throws rotten tomatoes at me. It is just my own feelings. I am sure not many approve of my daily rantings and mumblings of thoughts publicly here either. But it is my space and it works for me. It’s a stress relieving, problem solving platform for me. Being not private, it helps to keep me more thoughtful and objective. I’m apt to be more mannerly and kind. It helps me see from the other side. It keeps me from laying blame.
My crank is a little more relaxed with the tapping of the keyboard. The rhythm eases the tension in my head. Today I’m remembering to use Anne Lamott’s one inch picture frame advice for writing. It’s very good and works for everything. I work in that one inch frame at a time. That way there’s less frustration and crankiness. Can you imagine how frustrating it is when you keep making the same mistakes more than once? I redid the gent’s hair but got carried away. Too many lines again! His head got puckered. I took some out. Then I had to leave it for now. Grrr!
Working in one inch squares saves me from those grr! moments. I can get quite a bit done in those short little spurts. They add up like drops in a bucket. Gee whiz! I am a bucket person after all. I also write in one inch squares. There’s no point in being stuck in no thoughts or angry, frustrated ones. Changing venues and scenery diverts sticky thoughts and feelings.
Day 79, October 9, 2016 @10:26 am
Thanksgiving. Here I am with my cup of tea and the dog. There’s much to be thankful for. Each morning is an opportunity to do different, to do better. The decision lies in me and no one else in how and what direction I will travel. I am responsible for the results and consequences of my actions. At least they are from my conscious decisions. I’m not letting life happen to me.
It’s Sunday, ‘a day of rest’. I shall sit and linger awhile, sipping all the good stuff that is in my life. I shall contemplate and muse upon synchronicity – all those whispers that come to me when I am quiet and still. When I am willing and ready to listen and hear. I know there is much that I need/want to change. There’s much I need to question with: Is that really true? I recognize those moments that I need to ask. I recognize those times I’m fighting them. There’s a stubbornness and a twist in my heart. No, I don’t want to! It’s a big signal to ask: Is that really true?
Recognition is a gift to be thankful for. If I don’t recognize myself, how can I go forward? How can I be/do anything? On this Thanksgiving Day, I am grateful for this poem by Derek Walcott. It says everything that is in my heart at this moment.
Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.