"When she shut her eyes, her mind grew alert. Her senses opened. All around her, she felt how quickly things formed and were consumed. How there was so much blind feeling. It was going on beyond the wall of her sight, out of her control. Unheard, unnoticed, the blood dropped into her hands and feet, so that she was anchored. Which she was glad for, because the light was so feeble and the blackness so strong that she felt as though she could drift away like a boat of skin, never to return, leaving only her crumpled dress." -The Master Butcher's Singing Club
This crazy blog has been written and re-written 3 times now. Talk about writer's block! It has taken on several different forms. The first was an attempt to express a recent feeling I had encountered regarding the freedom of speech and it's effects. The second attempt was early this morning when I thought I should reiterate a dream that kept me (briefly) from falling back into peaceful slumber. However, neither seemed appropriate to my true feelings as of late. Nor did they contain a message and elaborating on a message, whether small or large, is usually my goal with these blog things.
We are all thinking and moving too quickly for our own good. Aspects of our lives that should be enjoyed are sped through and are taken advantage of. If there were anything I could do to figure out how to stop time, if only for seconds at a time, this would be the legacy I leave to all of you. But, this should really, truly be unnecessary because as we all know, time is irrelevant. Or is it?
As children, the days of Summer were endless. Remember that? We would get so bored with not having anything to do that we would sit around just to sit around. And we would run or ride our bikes as fast as we could wherever we went just to see if time really could "fly".
I learned at an early age to take the longest detours, because for some reason, they made the days "fly" by. A couple of local kids had created dirt bike trails in the woods behind my house. One summer, when I was maybe 11, this place became my haunt.
If I close my eyes and take a deep breath, it becomes rather easy to return to those woods. The smell is overwhelming, but is also eerily calming... Pine trees and the acidic freshness of recently disturbed earth. There was a small clearing about half way in that was my favorite place, especially when it would rain. The drops were buffered by overhanging branches and a large juniper bush that I was, somehow, small enough to hide just beneath.
A fog would sometimes rise right after the rain and it would cast a spell on my surroundings. Everything would blur and I would imagine myself in an enchanted forest that harbored singing frogs and talking birds. All things, bugs included, were my friends. And, oh the sky! When was the last time you laid on your back, looking to the clouds? These were the best days of my adolescence. My mother would wonder why I often came home with muddy clothes, smelling like a boy. But, I would never tell her. This secret place of mine has been hidden inside of me, until now.
It is my intention to remind all of you (and maybe frequently) to take an extra long breath. Close your eyes and try to place the smells that surround you. Imagine yourself as a child in your favorite hiding place. Creating and immersing yourself in that wonderful gift we all have called "insight". This will be your moment to stop time and "remove the excess".
And, finally it is done, (she says taking a deep sigh, enjoying when things are amusingly able to complete themselves). An actual success, if I might say so. Don't hesitate to ask me if you need to be reminded of the simple things in life.
