Time and tide wait for no woman - parodied from Geoff Chaucer

A lovely day today, and my heart sings with the birds.  Peaceful and quiet.  Time spent with loved ones has soothed the soul and the constant memory that I am ‘worthy of note’ is a helpful support at a time of uncertainty.

Let me explain.  The weekend was spent away, time with good company at a lovely old house.  I met some very intelligent and interesting people and re-kindled old friendships.  The location was spectacular, and time spent just watching the wildlife was a welcome point of relaxation.  The very act of this fills me with warmth and wonder.

Leisure - William Henry Davies (1911)

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

Davies spent much time as a wanderer, having no responsibilities to tie him to a path.  He made his own decisions, and learnt to find what made sense to him.  Only a tragic (but much underplayed) accident limited his wanderings, and through chance, he found his wife – herself an ‘injured party’.  If it had not been for the accident, he may never have found her; wandering endlessly searching for what he longed for.  Time was nearly his enemy, as I often feel it is mine.

Ah, Time, the one thing I often have to force myself to take.  It doesn’t sit naturally with me doing nothing – I like to be busy, as though stopping and observing is some form of weakness.  Periodically something reminds me that not only is it physically necessary to ‘stop’ sometimes, but it helps my mind find sense and my spirit regain a fresh approach.  I have managed to do both for the last few days and feel much better for it.  A wander through the grounds, a purposeless conversation or two, laughter.

I take great pride in working together with others.  Helping one another is both voluntary and essential – practical measures must be taken, but if unwanted they become tiring.  The true way forward is to build a paradigm where helping is part of everyday life.  I do this most of the time – having pride (in hopefully measured amounts) in ensuring that what I do is value added to someone.  As I have previously written – to make things ‘better’.  Being a part of a group is inherent to this need.  It is not overt, it is for the good of the group.  It is not for me, it is for my family.  All things both gratifying and filling me with personal satisfaction, as long as I recall that not everyone wants help, and no-one needs help all the time.  The equilibrium is to give the right amount of help without stifling.

I do feel much improved today.  The recent days of turmoil have passed.  I will survive, just as I always do.  I look back with a wry smile at my angst and concern, and the confusion floats away on a mill pond mirror.  As ever, the feelings of longing remain, but I am able to bear them in spite of myself; and not reliant on anyone else’s opinion.  I know who I am and what I want today.  If I’m being impractical, I would say I want it all.  What is more reasonable is that I want the best of what I have, with some new, glorious experiences, every now and then - should they occur.  And if they don’t occur, I will make them occur – whatever they may be.  The future – hell, it can throw at me what it likes.



"This moment is all you will ever have. Don't believe me?

Try to capture the previous moment or the next one and change it."

Rachel Devine

(not sure who she is - bother these quotation resources - but I agree with the point entirely)

The Cliff Route, or the Manicured Path?

Tonight I find it hard to sleep.  I know not why.  The symptoms were compounded by the surroundings, and an unconscious dismissal by another person.  Which woke me further. 

Such thoughts are always amplified tenfold in the night, the darkness engulfing you and magnifying tribulations into a raging torrent.  It is not my fault I can't sleep.  It is not anyone's fault that I am searching for meaning in my life - many have done this before.  What is my fault is allowing myself to feed the stream with a flow of consideration. I don't know why I do this - a subject takes hold and becomes an obsession.  I have to be forcibly extracted, or completely immersed to break the chain.

An interesting turn of events today.  A dear relative shared her concern that she is just existing most days, and doesn't know what her meaning is.  And this from someone much older than me, and someone I had thought did not consider such things, being happy with the status quo.  This gave rise to two thoughts of my own.  First, that - once again - I am not alone.  Whilst previous generations may not have made these connections, modernity dictates that even the most unexpected person thinks of these things once in a while.  The Second - a darker thought - that nothing changes and I have such a life to 'look forward' to.  Oh, dear - that doesn't help at all.

I already despise the thought of growing old.  The body fades and cannot do the happy things it once could.  Experiences are lost forever.  Opportunity for experiences are seldom if ever given, or realised when they do exist.

"Nobody grows old merely by living a number of years.  We grow old by deserting our ideals.  Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul."

~Samuel Ullman, Businessman, Poet, Humanitarian

I do not wish to desert my ideals, but it is sometimes hard to know how to fit them into one's mundane life.  I have enthusiasm in great abundance, but it is linked to things I should not be enthusiastic about. I don't yet have a wrinkled soul. 

The journey to enlightenment is one that minds far greater than mine have considered, yet I try.  I feel now that I need to explore the garden I live in, to be able to understand my place in it.  The typical view of perfection is neat and tidy and predictable.  You know where you are, there are few surprises, and the path is straightforward and open to your journey.  Ideals, as the destination, are worth pursuing.  A simple, direct route would be so easy...

All very beautiful, but is it real?  And it takes an enormous amount of work - not that I shy away from effort; I just tire of it every now and then.

I do wish that I could explore my ideals further, even if they seem to lead me in the wrong direction, like an italian garden where the low box hedges lead your eye to a point but prevent you for getting there.  You have to go around them. 

Or to find a path that is not straight, but goes via the exploration of new experiences and possible destruction.  Always assuming the pathway is not barred, to go there is to attempt to reach the perfect end, yet to have the experience along the way.  I don't wish to fall down a ravine, but I do wish to experience the thought and danger and wonder of doing so.  The path is unique and very special.  The short steps I have explored along it have confirmed that it is complex and never predictable, but engaging and a wonderful thing. No one will ever tame it, or understand it - which is part of its charm - I certainly could not be so immodest to pretend I do - although sometimes I mistakenly think I do.  I wish to tend the cliff path and help sustain it for the future, whilst also making it feel that it too can have a happy traveller with it, and that not all travellers wish for the manicured, bland journey. 

The easy path does not exist in my opinion.  There is no such thing as a weed-free, straight road to self-actualization - you have to take risks to find true beauty.  No perfect flowers exist - they are a myth, although there are beauties on the way that must be nurtured, even when you stray toward the cliff. 

But there are paths that are easier - stepping over the odd rambling greenery, the crumbling stones.  Probably though, there is not one choice, but many - at each stage of the journey, you make choices.  Moving towards the light is a series of small steps - a few flagstones at a time, with a choice that can be considered.

"Just as the ocean has a gradual shelf, a gradual slope, a gradual inclination, with a sudden drop-off only after a long stretch, in the same way this Doctrine and Discipline (dhamma-vinaya) has a gradual training, a gradual performance, a gradual progression, with a penetration to gnosis only after a long stretch." about the teachings of Buddha, by Bhikku

Small steps are a sign of determination.  As a certain gentleman of great pain travels from ancient battlefield to Athens, so I should use this to inspire a much shorter and less painful journey.  His journey will end but his pain will never finish.  But one step at a time, he moves forward.  And the journey has increased his worth - not just to himself, but to others, many times over.

So which path should I start on now?  One that leads to freedom of spirit without poisoning the flowers.

 

Beginnings - making sense of it all

Oh, if I must, then I shall.  Writing a diary is something that I have done for many years, in a sporadic way.  Usually only when my mind was in particular turmoil, when a wave of emotion flows over me or a multitude of complex thoughts and contradictory arguments cloud my judgement of where I should go from here.  Putting pen to paper has helped in such circumstances, so I suppose this should be the next step.

Lord Byron said ‘If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.’  Which sums it up nicely.

 

Who am I?  Factually, that is not important.  To me, that question pervades my life.  To find meaning in my actions and thoughts, is a core part of my motivation for existence.  If I cannot find said meaning, it is merely that – an existence.  On days where this happens, my soul cries for itself, and wonders why we are all here.

Luckily, these days are rare – I take certain precautions to prevent them, as I know they have power to ruin the lives of others along with myself.  I will not allow them to over-run me – I may be decadent and subject to temptation (more on that another time – there are several volumes of non-fiction and debate in that topic), but I truly believe that I should have a purpose in life, and that this should drive my actions for the better.  I am irritatingly strong-willed at some subjects, and annoyingly compliant on others.  I’m sure I am both hated and loved for both.

What is ‘better’?  Well it means doing something that is useful to me or to others.

The trouble is, do I depress the natural wave in favour of stability.  Am I cutting off the wonderful expressions of joy, the flights over the rooftops, soaring joyously through the sunlit skies without knowing what they feel like?  I don’t know.  I could be.  In fact I’m sure that may be the case.  There are few opportunities for such ecstasy, and so should I be limiting myself to hovering at 1^st or 2^nd floor level, tethered by a training (or should that say ‘irritating and hateful’) rope, never to know the freedom others experience.

I have made my choice, for now.  Who knows what will happen tomorrow.

The sadness is the impact of the groins that control the waves.  It’s a sacrifice that you make, choosing the peace in the middle, rather than allowing the heights to rise and the depths to plumb.  In the rather unacademic words of a more recent ‘poet’ Mr W Young – ‘if I lose the highs, at least I’m spared the lows’.  He’s been there clearly.  The choice is mediocrity, banality, boredom, in the middle – where you just ache to see those views once again.  

But my freedom is not just in the skies, there are the depths of the ocean to consider.  Could I find joy swimming under the crystal cloth, eternal and supported in its glistening and engulfing substance?  Possibly.  I write.  My mind is free – to say what I feel and share these ramblings with like minded souls – whether they agree or disagree with the themes – they are my themes, and help me find my own peace.

One day it will be peace.  Another day it will be turmoil.  Most days, it will be somewhere in between.  Perhaps that is the normal sphere of things, and I should accept with good grace.  After all, it would be pretentious to believe I am any different than anyone else…