home

19 Oct

boats_and_birds__for_sale__by_amouse-d2hncsg

Often, there is just a walking through, no thinking-flow going on in my moment to moment existence for which I am deeply grateful.  Sailing through life from this place is a joy.

Sometimes, though,  there is a heavy familiar sadness that wells up that is not tied to anything particularly but an overall way of being that shades my eyes.  That familiar feeling is so out of place in my flow anymore.  I see my own brand of sad, circling around, looking for a way in.  When it comes over me, I have a hard time feeling any hope, or purpose for continuing to walk about  in this world.  It is heavy.  So heavy, I am amazed how it ever can blow over and leave the sky clear for joy to flow again.

So I ask myself, what is this?  What is there to uncover and learn?   What silly stairs do i stumble down, sometimes?  What song  plays in the distance to help me remember to dance – dance back into the true lightness of being.  Heavy is a smothering blanket best dealt a laughing blow.

Awake and knowing, asleep and seeking, asleep and suffering, remembering, awake and dancing: round-and-round:  macabre and delight – all of it.  I am doing this life.  Watching this life.  Lingering in bed on a Saturday morning.

While waiting for dance rehearsal to finish at 10:30 last night, watching the dashboard clock creep ever closer to 11,  I was so tired, I could have entered deep sleep there under the streetlight blaze behind the steering wheel.  As i sat in the car waiting, I realized once again that there were no pressing thoughts.

How I sink into this wonderful thoughtless space!  There is the seeing that when I carry on with my life from this place, I carry on with ease.

The sadness seems to start when I find a snaggy string  playing  at the corners of the door to this space.  Thoughts, like busy hands, seek out the messy strings distracting the entrance to bliss and they accidentally unravel a whole mess of thread which mounts up in piles.  Buried down under the piles of thoughts, I look up but cannot see what once looked like endless blue sky; the blue is obscured by the opaque nature of the mess I’ve pulled down upon myself.  Rising again seems impossible.

Where is that spacious place that felt like home now?

Why should I stay at the bottom of a well, when a strong rope is in my hand? — Rumi
Thoughts are string, but truth is a rope, a rope out.

Each time through the confusion, I see more clearly.  Each time I remember more quickly of the opaque nature of unclear thinking.  Each time I get still a bit sooner; I ride the storm out with a little more assuredness.

But dear, sweet, efforting girl, do not miss the large  recycling bin at the entrance to spaceousness  just waiting for those knotted mounds.  Drop them off.   Do not sort them or roll them up on spools to be brought out again another day.  Leave them and move on.

From this spacious place, it is clear:  home is inside and beyond the moving vessel of me – home enjoys the ride through storm and  soft breeze, music and imagined loss, luxury and stark beauty.  The true home is  free of noise, confusion, dust, clutter.

Home is not the vessel; the vessel is a springy, high platform from which I can swan dive into the sea of everything.  I don’t know even a tiny sliver of what is,   but I am given just what I need to push those boundaries out and out and out as I can handle more without quaking in fear.

While I lived on a boat for several years  (which actually didn’t move all that much as it was tied up to a dock), I resisted the idea of a moving home.

But now I can see that my real home is much more clearly all ways with me and always in motion, even in the bed on a saturday morning.

Home is where i want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb – burn with a weak heart
(so i) guess i must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It’s ok i know nothing’s wrong . . nothing

Hi yo i got plenty of time
Hi yoyou got light in your eyes
And you’re standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up + say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home – is where i want to be
But i guess i’m already there
I come home – -she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can’t tell one from another
Did i find you, or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this where i’ll be . . . where i’ll be

Hi yo we drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all tose kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I’m just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till i’m dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head ah ooh

9 Responses to “home”

  1. Michael October 19, 2013 at 2:29 pm #

    I thought the artwork at the top of the post went perfectly with your sharing. I can certainly relate to that plunge into a discordance. It’s that winter wind against which we have worked so hard, and for so long, to caulk and chink every gap in our protective expansiveness. We’re hyper-sensitive to it, because it’s the sensation we have sought to remedy. The aspect of our lives we have endeavored to cure.

    It’s kind of an inverted analogy, that one, isn’t it… ha! Inside is expansiveness. Outside is littleness, cold or heavy, take your pick, seeping in through cracks… Cracks in what? Cracks in a concept? Cracks in the vessel… “Home is not the vessel.” Love it!

  2. Michael October 19, 2013 at 2:31 pm #

    Wrong button… Wasn’t quite finished. Also wanted to say, this line was wonderful:

    “Thoughts are string, but truth is a rope, a rope out.”

    Made me think, along with your description of the unraveling string, that the string is what we are trying to push around. And surely pushing string is futile. The rope of truth, however, is taut. Strong. It always pulls us out. Great start to the day, reading this…

    Michael

    • marga t. October 19, 2013 at 7:17 pm #

      Your words are so helpfully reflective to me, Michael. Thank you for that. There is a pull to write about what feels clear, a pull away from the uncomfortable spots of working through. The false self is reaching for the steering wheel, (grin), again! When I attempt to write that which is unformed and uncomfortable, I am bursting with gratitude for the feedback of understanding not only from the having been there voice, but also from the adding on voice that gives images of winter wind, caulking, and taut truths which furthers my own understanding! So new and fresh, yet strangely familiar, your words! Peace to you, Bro!

  3. solrevel October 19, 2013 at 2:56 pm #

    It gives me comfort and strength to know another excellent human navigates the same challenges, as sometimes it can feel lonely when the clouds come and the strings are heavy and suffocating. I love the recycling bin, I have installed one in the corner of my mind! I also know that place of sleepy non think, I bath in it just before I fall asleep. Michael is right, this is a wonderful way to start the day. Tread lightly, dance gracefuly, and if I trip over a string, I’m tossing it in the recycle bin. 😉 Thank you for this!

    • marga t. October 19, 2013 at 7:21 pm #

      So very wonderful to dance here with you, Reveling in Sol together 🙂 sharing the sleepy non think place. I hope your weekend is full of peace! X! m

  4. prewitt1970 October 19, 2013 at 3:04 pm #

    I hope you are well my dear friend and that life has seen fit to give you peace and calm.
    Namaste
    Benjamin

    • marga t. October 19, 2013 at 7:23 pm #

      Round and round I go, choosing peace and calm, here. I hope that your life is doing the same for you. I see your creations watching over you as you watch over them, Benjamin! X! m

  5. The Retired Seeker October 19, 2013 at 3:37 pm #

    Such a moving post. Writing about sadness moving into messy strings unraveling a whole mess of threads obstructing the endless blue sky. Wonderful stuff. Loved it!

    • marga t. October 19, 2013 at 7:24 pm #

      Following that trail, pulling on the taut rope, returning to blue sky. I hope you are well in your corner of things! X! marga

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