Memory of a Summer Morning

I sat in contemplation, among my much-loved potted vines, shrubs, perennials and colourful annuals than surrounded or reached down to attract my attention and appreciation of their beauty. And they were beautiful, each in their own way. Did they know that they provided me with much more than pleasure, or at least pleasure and more.. Their profuse foliage screened me from the world, or so it seemed.

The day began, or at least that portion of it when I took coffee, water, books, pen and notebook out to meditate – not every meditator focuses on her navel, or emptiness.

It was a misty, moist morning and yet, even as I recorded this fact, the reality changed. A flat, transparent, almost soft grey blanket of cloud, giving a faint hint of blue sky beyond, gradually transformed itself into a soft, lace stretching across a baby-blue sky. The cloud lace stretched ever more thinner and became tattered, as a beloved old shawl might seem to be by strangers.

 

I asked Green Maple, close to my patio, and his young friend, Red Maple, what they thought of such a transformation in the sky.

We don’t think at all, they seemed to smugly respond. or, at least we try not to. What purpose would it serve? We accept what is. Why don’t you?

Why don*t I just accept?

Yes.

It’s not possible, at least not for me, not if acceptance is as , case closed. I just can’t seem to be able to do it. I can accept almost anything, if acceptance is a step that requires developing understanding of why, and even then, why, too, must lead somewhere toward progressing beyond even awareness of the why, to a ‘where do I go from here’ question.

Spirit is listening to all of this and suggests that I could learn to live a simple life.

How is that possible, I ask, when Life refuses to be simple?

He drops the pen. Our connection closes. Why?

No response.

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