Right In Front of Me

My mind wants to go with Kathy's prompt.  I stare into the woods looking for that one thing to describe or write about that is in front of me without naming and my will resists pulling me to the blog I want to get started.  Then the breeze picks up and lifts the upper branches of the Oak tree like a prayer flag sending my desires to heaven. 

The thing before me is this moment to let the ink flow along with my hand and mind.  Why not let it lead me. 

And what I get first is the distraction of a couple dozen mosquitoes who have noticed my bug spray has worn off and I am in a clearing in the woods where the breeze is not getting to and I am sitting still not creating my own breeze with walking...

It is open season--distractions are everywhere.

I sopped subbing two weeks before the end of school because I jut couldn't take another step.  That is figuratively speaking.  The real concern was I would be in a classroom of students and say something I would just wish I could have stopped behind my teeth before it tumbled out. 

I was tired.  Pushed to an edge after a year of school and working with my son, who once again had stopped going to school due to anxiety--I just stopped. 

And then I decided to do what I wanted.  Now you may think that my days would then fill with writing, reading and relaxing walks.  However, nature abhors a vacuum.  And, just like mosquitoes, the distractions set in.  Soon two weeks are gone and, yes, I am not so anxious that I feel close to coming undone, yet the writing is just not as easy as the reading and walking.  When I do write I find that having to turn my mind back to interactions with my family, or an appointment, are met with my resentment of having to leave my writing.

I am not a transition person.

So I return to that image this morning.  There were the retreat attendees meditatively stepping into the woods--bringing their thought to that moment.  they have a practice to bring their mind to where they are. 

Are they training to control their mind or enjoying where they are?  Are they the same?

What struck me though were the two children playing.  They didn't need training.  They were caught up in joy of the moment and needed no practice.  Do we forget this innocent attendance to here and now?  Is play the answer?

Maybe if  looked at my writing as my play...no.  Then I would just bring right along my guilt of "not working." I've been down that road many times.  So then I go off and visit possible other reasons--past words, experiences and I see those two kids playing again.  I see the line of white robed people and it is the woman, second from the end, that turns to me.  She acknowledges my presence with hands together at her heart, and, tilting her head, she offers me the recognition of seeing the divine in me.  I return that to her.  She smiles and falls back into step.

She knows how to be in both worlds.  She recognizes what is around her and she steps forward to where she is going.

And I am speechless.