I am rooted.
The myth, the
illusion, the farce lies in the mindplace: that I am not rooted or balanced,
centered, at one with. The Truth comes when I cultivate the feeling that, yes, I am one with.
As I told some
friends today, I pretend as if…I practice
rootedness as much as I speak it.
I listen to a
friend; I lie down with bare belly on grass and I can feel the rootedness that
is the truth, that is the center, that is of singular purpose:
To be present.
I lie down
again, with my entire front body flat on the earth, and I dare to put my face
into the deep blades, and I wonder why I was ever afraid at all because it is
rest I find then, that is calm, that is peace, that is solely:
To be present.
It is as crucial
to not know what to do as it is to have all those tidy boxes tied, stamped,
ready to send out into the world – boxes that just might end up being obsolete,
lost to the need of the moment, obscure in their absolute and insanely neat
order.
We just show up
anyway, empty-handed, open-hearted. With presence: agenda-less, open, willing to really listen.
Isn’t this the
grief of not knowing that is borne witness by Compassion?
Is this
Gratitude that is made manifest by action-with-presence?
It must be
peace-generating to live into questions we cannot possibly answer in a word, in
a paragraph, in tomes and volumes of all the great works. Together we will walk;
we will muster the courage to face whatever it is we fear, to melt our
eyelashes with the meadow, to turn our pouting lips into a kiss for the mud, to
burrow our clean noses into the warm, moist fecund earth and inhale largely.
Only then will
we rediscover serenity, community, bedrock.
All blog photographs taken by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted.
