For the first time in my 53 years of living, I have had the opportunity to allow my body to find its own rhythm. I have a once a month writing deadline, and I am currently answering only to the demands of nature for working to get my gardens established. I might sleep three hours in a night, or I might sleep ten or twelve. I might be up before dawn or not go to bed until then.
My daily spiritual practice has evolved into happening while I am working in the gardens or outside for a walk about. It happens while I am sitting under the loblolly pine, watching the baby American Robins in their nest, or sitting under the night sky. Bear Path Cottage has become a rather substantial sized altar, and my connection with the Divine is ever deepening.
Inside the house, well, some days it looks like I am losing a game of Jumanji, but the world hasn't ended because of this lapse in housekeeping. This is just another part of life that is slowly settling after being shaken up. When my kids were little I embraced a "messy doesn't mean dirty" housekeeping style, and I am once again keeping home with that liberating philosphy.
I am shaking off a lifetime of constructs created by a world external to me, and that is exhausting work. I am grateful for the time to allow my entire being - body, mind, and spirit - to rest from this work as it needs must. I am most grateful for the journey work that has led me to a place where I can recognize what is happening and embrace it without paying harsh judgment to myself.
I am also mindful that I am not living within a destination. I haven't arrived anywhere. I am still traveling, no matter how far I go or don't go. I am living wholly in this moment. I am alive.
“For whatsoever from one place doth fall,
Is with the tide unto an other brought:
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.”
― The Faerie Queene
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