Holding Onto Time

It is a precious gift to feel the day. In summer camp I called it holding onto time. I'd stop and try to reflect on the now and be grateful for it, because time was moving so quickly. I'd sit on the end of my bed and hold onto the iron railing and meditate on the moment.

I've spent most of the summer in the house of low energy, feeling fear and vulnerability. I want to cry over the pains of the lives of my friends, my neighbors, the pains of the world, the poverty and agonies everywhere I look. But there is life, too, and there is humor. Make me laugh! Make me cry! Perhaps I am feeling cozy underneath what has been non-stop promoting and propelling of projects. I do believe in the healing powers of art, but can I really be a saleswoman? It seems everything requires a salesman to make it fly.

I am enjoying listening to the wind rustling the leaves. I am enjoying the quiet solitude. Sincerity is my path. It is how I can distinguish the true voice from the other voices in my head. Listen clearly, listen deeply, don't obstruct the vision. Come back home to your true voice and start plowing, planting, weeding, harvesting.