Although generally settled in my skin or in the garden, occasionally I discover, quite surprisingly, that I am also skilled at manufacturing worry. I wonder if it’s the challenge of many creative types at this time of life, where we find ourselves at the juncture between that which we have achieved through realizing youthful ideals and the inner call to express something more heartfelt before we die. Ideally this contribution would both benefit a world in need as well as enhancing our own spirits.
It is on this unknown road that I have been traveling now for several years with little tangible result; that is, an end product as measured in the way society gauges such things; in the way that I, myself once assessed them. I’ve always been a person with never-ending ideas, a perpetual flow of possibilities scrolling through a dervish mind.
Over the years I have embraced the practice of waking, walking awareness. The vexation of mindfulness is that, once in awhile, I glimpse myself whirling away, mounting virtual scenarios on the Pinterest board of my mind. The downside is that my body interprets these fantasies as real, and adrenaline surges up through my core, causing yet another uncomfortable hot flash. And though it is annoying, this mercurial thermometer provides a useful key to conscious awareness.
The upside to mindfulness is exactly this: to listen and learn; to observe and ingest; to sift and cast out and finally grow in wisdom, as a result. Some choose doctors and prescriptions. Personally I’d rather un-mask and un-earth the karmic residue that keeps me from arising, phoenix-like, from the ashes of my own ego’s immolation. And the more I surrender, the sharper my vision becomes, metaphorically as well as literally. Like a figure walking toward me through a mirage, that vision begins to take form.