What you are, the world is. And without your transformation, there can be no transformation of the world. – J. KRISNAMURTI
Did you wake up some days and wonder when you walked away from yourself? It seems to happen to me over and over again. There is a problem with the metaphor when walking away from yourself makes you feel heavier, not lighter.
I’ve spent the past three weeks carelessly – in the best sense: I haven’t ticked a single thing off my “should do” list. I’ve sat on the sofa with Leonard’s head in my lap and listened to the rain hit the window. I finished a book that I’m not sure I enjoyed.
I enjoyed finishing it, though.
I’ve written single sentences and savored wine in the late afternoons. I’ve kept a vase of dead peonies on my desk because they still smelled wonderful. I’ve guiltlessly binge-watched a woefully historically incorrect costume drama on Netflix.
This morning I wonder if I can find myself again here – in this careless space.
When the term ended, I was full of rage. And no small amount of self-pity. That’s all gone now. When I ran to the lake this morning, my throat felt free for the first time in a long time. I am still not a woo-woo kind of gal, but I do so love metaphors and how we can use them in the physical world to deal with our inner reality: the throat chakra is all about communicating our “truths”. It seems my “truths” have changed and I no longer feel that there is anything left to hold back. No more clenching.
My next book will be titled The Body as Metaphor.
Not much has changed really: Politics. Pandemics. Personalities. But these weeks I have redirected my “care”. Maybe I am not really careless as much as I am discerning in regard to where I invest my care. “God grant me the wisdom…” Right?
By the way: I’ve made my bed every morning this week.
When I think about specifics now that are not under my control, I feel the emotions swell up towards my throat – the fears, the griefs – but then they subside. Like the waves that rise and fall, I cannot will them into stillness. I can hold them, and observe them without clenching – that is a useless misdirection of energy.
We can read and repeat all the pithy quotes, but really: we learn by doing, don’t we? And when we’ve learned we remember the quotes and understand with a deeper integration. Communication.
I think I am back on the theme of necromancy, aren’t I? Words alone can’t communicate the wholeness of experience. We believe we understand the books we read, then return years later with a new understanding. And then again. Each time sure we have “understood it right this time”.
It is a line of thought that can lead one to despair, really. Are we ever really communicating?
This is also Keat’s negative capability.
This is why poetry is necessary.
Oh – I was going to update you on my little greenhouse project. It seems I’ve planted everything too densely in the beds. My sweet potatoes are rooting in the oregano. I’ve no idea what will happen underground where the beautiful red-veined leaves of the beets are crowded like a wedding bouquet.
Not having to get it all right the first time around is a privilege I am enjoying.