after a long silence brought about by my inability to maintain a state of silence within myself for even the shortest period of time as i failed miserably to reconcile the terms of my outer life with those of my inner life
i am bringing this blog back to a life it retreated from in may of this year
when i celebrated the life and music of gil scott-heron.
as the older sister of a blog also long dormant entitled "gone to earth", "flow" holds a place in my heart with
its purpose being to share insight accompanied by images of simple beauty. i welcome other possibilities and have a sense that they may need voice and so - here i am.
where the mother blog "the golden fish" posts on a daily basis, "flow" has a more relaxed approach to posts being driven by what makes itself available to the writer.
welcome back to those of you who have maintained the connection and to those of you new here - welcome!
as the doors to spring are flung wide open, the rain, the sun, the birds and animals come rushing through.
it's overwhelming. learning to listen, to see, to smell, to feel, to taste -
well it's like christmas and a birthday rolled into one!
the world returns to life once again.
"what shall we do for the boy who prevented the world from coming to an end?"
asked the good-natured corncrake.
"nothing," said the wagtail. do nothing at all for him."
"i'll sing for him," said the goldfinch.
"i'll teach him what the birds say," said the crow.
"yes, yes, yes," said all the birds in the king's garden.
the boy had not gone far when the crow flew after him and lighted on his shoulder. the crow spoke to him in the boy's own language. the boy was surprised. the crow flew to a standing stone
and went on speaking plain words to him.
"oh," said the boy, "i didn't know you could speak."
"why shouldn't i know how to speak," said the crow, "haven't i, for a hundred years and more,
been watching men and listening to their words?
"and you can speak well, ma'am," said the boy, not forgetting his manners.
"you know one language, but i know many languages," said the crow, "for i know what people say,
and i know what all the birds say."
the old crow sat there looking so wise and so friendly that the boy began to talk to her at his ease.
and after a while the boy said, "ma'am, do you think i could ever learn what the birds say?"
"you would, if you had me to teach you," said the crow.
"and will you teach me, ma'am?" said the boy.
"i will," said the crow.
then every day after that the crow would sit upon the standing stone and the boy would stand beside it. when the crow had eaten the boiled potato that the boy always brought she would tell him about the languages of the different birds. he learnt the language of this bird and that bird, and as he learnt their languages, many's and many's the good story he heard them tell each other.
trees love themselves and extend that knowing of love into their sense of all othernesses
in whatever form they may take.
i know this as loving kindness.
it's a pairing of words that bears reflection and consideration.
loving kindness allows for the possibility of a state of care that is unconcerned
with like or dislike, right or wrong.
loving kindness is entirely present in the possibility that maybe, just maybe, everything, all things,
are features, perhaps even signs pointing to the process of love that emerges unimaginably
and without condition from a creative moment we express as "the creation".
the creation manifests in our own experiencing as a sort of creative infinitude that embraces the tiniest plankton, the most ancient joshua tree, the most beautiful sunset and everything in-between,
despite and other.
all are expressions of love.
the creation is an unfolding gift within which it is possible to refine the presence of the soul that in this incarnation manifests as the youness of you.
and so as i stand on a streetcorner (as i did this very day) and watch the sun break through clouds painted pale violet and the softest of sienna and (if you can imagine)
turning my head ever so slightly to look further south
i watch a frostbow form and see the colours that will become spring fall to the earth
i am keenly aware of the finite features of my bodies' life and then the ebb and flow of the seasons and the larger cycles of our planet which in turn sing of the orbiting of the worlds comprising our very tiny place in this universe which even as it becomes and fills the space in its plentitude is already aware of the necessity of its return to the essence of love from which it exploded.
please understand that the extraordinary and almost unbearably beautiful forms that i am so graced to share this place with leave me filled with the overwhelming compulsion and desire to share the deep feelings of gratitude and awe that i would wish to contain but whose ownership i cannot isolate and so as an echo of the unconditional loving kindness which they reflect, i choose to share them inside my emerging understanding here.