I am brimming. I am full. I am buzzing. I don't know what I carry; I do, and I don't. a month's worth of experiences fills my skin. I am full. I am bloated. have I digested? I am present, full of the present, so full that sometimes I close my eyes in order to not be here.
altogether a beautiful way to be.
(in this writing I channel a channeling to let articulate what needs to be articulated.)
the task; the taks that I am engaged with; the thing that I am doing is clear. it is the surfacing of a life. it is the formation of a compass. it's knowing myself. this is one giant experiment, a task, a methodology, about living in the wild. here I am, here I was, there I went, there I was. which choices do I make? where do I sleep, tonight? do I turn left, or right? what maps do I spread across a table, or across the steering wheel? what devices do I need for divination? what hearing aids do I need to listen to myself?
the task at hand is of attuning to a quietly vibrating energy, a hum. it is there, present, sometimes lost under the airwaves; other times a clarion call so crisp it rends the sky apart with certainty. most often than not, it's a kind of a low hum, barely discernible but, once I tune into it, so obviously present.
to that frequency I am attuned, and do I move. sometimes it's occupied by a sigh; is this the direction I am moving in? but the heart says what it says, and the Self is what the self is, and I must Listen, so I go forth.
this experiment, no, this practice, this practicing of a way, this practicing of a way of being. it is daily, hourly, minutely. constant. do I lose my way? in that, too, is a lesson. at all points I try to lend my ear. what am I being told here? what lesson is arising for me? is it disappointment that allows the clarity of desire? is it hesitation that necessarily clarifies a present ambivalence that needs clarity to untie the knot to allow desire to flow, not willful ignorance? is it the task of getting tripped up by myself again, and yet again, so that I might learn that the practice here isn't the task of 'not falling down', but of 'getting up', of stopping what needs to be stopped at-this-moment, of the present?
isn't it? isn't it? isn't it?
r tells me, quietly, that what happens in the h___ i________ ceremony is a commitment to a way of being. commitment, commitment, I sense, is the missing word, the key, the frame that I had sought that tugged me hundreds of miles away to another nation. what does it mean to commit to the world? to commit to a way of life? a deep giving-into; a deep promise.
what does it mean to commit to a way of life?
if I am to pursue this, if I am to continue to pursue the task of becoming _ w_____ __ e_______, then what's at stake is a committment, a renewal, a continual form of practice. am I trying? am I not trying? is this not the present in which I try? do I not continue?
so many thoughts in my heart. the familiarity of navajo nation. three dogs, out of which, one whose soul I felt I saw. a quiet day folding laundry. seeing K and recognizing echoes and reverberations of a teenage life and how they've unfolded over the years in each of our lives. a huge gathering of people, all seeking something, and amidst that a series of meetings, momentary real conversations. the tension of something unsaid, stuck in my throat. my own anger, and frustration, and exasperation at people, crowds, betraying the expectations and disappointments I have of others, betraying the expectations and disappointments (and pride and appreciation!) I have in me.
moments in nature, feeling a warm wind blow through, getting ready for an Encounter.
a conversation, or rather, an exchange at the scale of landmasses; talking to the landscape, and listening to its post-anger sadness and wisdom.
vignettes sink into my body. I trust that I absorb. here I am, falling asleep, fingers desperately skittering around trying to carry them carefully in these words. a diner in moab. looking over the edge into canyonlands. exhausted, exhilarated, exhuasted at the top of mount ida. satisfiedly calm, calmy satisfied at angels landing. the heat, the hot heat, a swim and a cat nap in a strange and comfortable home in las vegas. a dear conversation with a dear friend.
so much brims, I am brimming. amongst all of this the memory of that moment on 7/7/2023, not quite a calling-forth, but a tuning-into, as if the voices that were necessary suddenly arrived. I hear what they are saying. I hear what I am feeling. I am present, channeling, antennae to the world, antennae to my world, listening, attempting a form of faith to myself I have no words for, an old, ancient practice, the path that has no path, the door that has no door, of becoming that who I already am.