but… but… why?

Why is not a question I latch on to any more. There is no answer, ever–not really. We can make up stories about events; we can create meaning about what has happened, or is happening, or might happen. But all of that meaning is layering on top of of the truth of any moment that is simply unfolding as it unfolds. Occurrences are unforeseen, often surprising, sometimes shocking, occasionally horrifying. So we make meaning as a fortress against the unknown.

Why did this Oregon inlet get worn away, but not the hill beyond? We can postulate and hypothecate–about wind conditions, types of rock, eons of time.

But in the end, it’s mind insinuating meaning, taking away from the extraordinary beauty of being with what is unfolding, in the precious, present moment.

It’s a huge relief to no longer care much about the whys of life. Making meaning is a tiring, manufactured process. More and more, I let the unknown wash over me–now, and now, and now.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012

excitement

Humans are addicted to excitement and urgency. My husband and I had a conversation about yesterday’s post on small pleasures, and realized that we’ve just been through a period of vast change, and that the human body can respond to that change as excitement.

Our move to a different state came together as a bit of a surprise, and very quickly. Then we were in the throes of downsizing, packing, moving, arriving, unpacking, settling in.

And abruptly, we’re done: well settled, planter boxes filled and growing, rock removal complete, new plants in their place. Both of us have been experiencing the flatness I wrote about in the post “so what?” and realized that the urgency around making the move in such a short time span re-stimulated the excitement addiction.

Today we attended a one-year-old’s birthday party. Here she is exploring her first (very own) birthday cake. Yes, it ended up upside-down on the ground!

The joy of a family and old friends united in loving celebration served as a wonderful reminder for us both to simply notice and enjoy.

Nothing needs to happen; all is well.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012

small pleasures

By our front door sit two pots of Lantana, and our stone turtle–a small viewing pleasure that eases the pervasive flatness I mentioned a couple of days ago. In slowing down and noticing the everyday, quiet pleasure arises. The Lantana have grown a bit; it seems they are taking hold in their new home. Their job is to survive, and they were plunked in these pots, so they are making the best of it–even though they weren’t transplanted at the best of times. They were already blooming, and putting effort above ground, and suddenly, additional effort is required below ground.

Here’s another quiet delight–
About every four days, I rinse and scrub out the bird bath, so the birds have clean water to drink. I noticed that when I dumped the water it was digging a hole in the flower bed beyond it, so I searched for river rocks to make a landing place for the torrent of water at cleaning time. The process of placing the rocks was a quiet action, and pleasing. The rocks function as I had envisioned.

The birds bathe every day it is not pouring rain, sometimes four birds at a time. They sip, flutter, shake, dip their heads, shake some more. Gold finches, house finches with their bright red heads, robins, doves, and other winged friends seem to really enjoy the water. Little birdie squabbles arise, but mostly, they share the bath pretty well. The hummers don’t seem to bathe, but they do come to the feeder nearby. I can see this display from my reading chair in the living room about twenty feet away. More simple pleasure. Perhaps life is not quite as flat as I had labelled it.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012

anxiety

In my 104th post, written February 10th–ten days before we relocated–I said that I had no anxiety about the move at all. That was true then. Not now!

Even though I clearly see that anxiety serves no purpose, that it increases suffering, that the ground of awareness is unmoving and not affected, still the body runs adrenalin. It’s not pleasant, but here it is, like it or not. It has no specific story, but I have to assume that hiding in the recesses, there is still some untilled belief–and fear–about an uncertain future. Silly: as though any unfolding moment holds any kind of certainty.

The path curves; I cannot see around it. The words spill out, from where and by whom?

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012

is the sky blue?

Today the weather is what humans call “picture perfect.” The  sun shines bold and hot; the sky is a vibrant blue. We all agree–and call–the sky blue, because that’s how our eyes read it, how our minds label it. But is that true?

No. We know that the sky, which is transparent atmosphere, has no color at all. And yet… we see blue, we register blue, we label blue, and talk about it as though blue is actual fact.

So it is with the word “I”. We refer to the apparent separate self as “I”; we act as though we are separate entities; there is agreement to accept that understanding within humanity. But is it true?

No. What we are referring to when we use the word I is pure awareness itself–inseparable. We’re referring the the consciousness that is the ground of all, that notices everything that is happening with simple, clear dispassion, and welcomes it all.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012

now what?

Life is magnificent and awesome, and I no longer find any meaning in it. The meaningful stories that I lived my life by simply fell away in October 2008: stories of karmic connection, purpose in life, value of prayer; comparison stories of smarter or dumber; stories of spiritual growth to be achieved, the need for an altar, the value of practices–all of it, gone.

Now what?

Now this, I guess. Only this. I find myself simply living life as it shows up–and often it does offer startling surprises. But there is some flatness about it–just to be noticed I suppose, with an attitude of “and this too.” I see there is mild resistance; perhaps I’ll get used to the flatter terrain.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2012

relentless patterns

I recognize the outlines, the shadings of my own familiar suffering. I see it as it approaches–and oh, I do know better—but slip down the slippery slide anyway. Perhaps this happens because it is known and familiar—way more comfortable than the always unknown erupting now, and now, and now. I label that unknown “scary” and then build possible nightmare scenarios about what that scariness might turn out to be.

I see the silliness, even stupidity of this pattern: to fear what isn’t here, and so die a thousand deaths and heartbreaks instead of one, or two, or three.

And while dying these thousand deaths and heartbreaks, awareness shines—steady, clear, unending—welcoming whatever shows up, even worn out and seen-through patterns. That the phrase I find myself repeating—“it’s already welcomed; it’s already welcomed; it’s already welcomed!”

Rest there, Amrita, rest there.

© Amrita Skye Blaine