And so the story continues…
Not sure where the blog will take me this time but I know from past experience talking to myself in this way has given me surprise and understanding along with friendships and sharing that I had neither expected or to be honest even considered as being part of the process.
The process for me is to sit down in front of a blank screen and just write, so, if you are new to this blog let me just warn you that I ramble, go off at tangents unimaginable in degree and possibility for soft landing but am told that I rarely completely lose my way and there is logic and reason to the trajectory which makes it back to the path before the end of a post.
I don’t always see that myself but what I write makes sense to me, helps me clarify thoughts, often discover as I write what I already know and hadn’t realised and oft time makes me smile in recognition of a thought found in the web of tangled connections which is my brain.
So, on the first day of May I begin as tentatively as I did some years ago now at this blogging ‘thing’.
I have not danced around any Maypoles today but I’ve watched the Hawthorn and its blossom dance in the blustery breeze chasing up and down the valley, have listened to the wild birds busy building nests and preparing for their offspring to arrive in the near future, have sniffed the heady perfume of the lilac bushes in the lane that have done extraordinarily well after the hard winter plus some rather enthusiastic pruning and been glad to find myself alive on this first day of May in a rather neglected garden outside a stone cottage that has undergone major building work over the last year which still has one or two major things to ‘enjoy before the autumn arrives.
Life begins each morning as the sun rises on a whole new clean page of a day. Something beautiful is offered to over night clawed hands, that makes them stretch out with as open a palm as is possible even if pain reminds me that each moment may include a colour I might not have chosen for my personal palette but I understand it does not come in any hue that can really overwhelm the others just depends on my skill to mix them up in to the rainbow of my making, understanding, exploring being.
I have found that skill is not given but needs to be worked at, practiced and practiced again until the skill is to practice. No need for production, presenting something complete as for me the production is life and its living which, like the May blossom, might seem to be transient even a little ephemeral but the blossom comes from roots planted deep and the passage of the sun through the seasons of a trees life, so, why not the same for my life.
I am found in a portion of time I call a life. It can only ever be a moment not a lifetime that I am found in. That a moment, today has been gauged in blossom bird song and beauty carried on the wind to my nose can only be a gift and the beginning of the year of inactively finding myself actively in the present.
The skill is to practice and let the outcome surprise and enthral in a moment. No measure of day, month or year just a moment that stretches to infinity and dances beyond grasp or gain; offered without guarantee or returns policy but nothing less than perfect no matter what I do with life and its living.
The perfect is not me or anything I have can or will be, the perfect will never be found or bought but it can be glimpsed not as tease or snare but as reason to know that each day is another practice session