Stories from the wilderness, yoga nidra, and other meditations on life
On my way back down I heard the ringing of copper bells that led the way, brought to life by long ropes pulled by passers by. And beside the entrance I now saw, what in the early darkness I had missed: the brightly painted Lord Ganesh, god of all beginnings, wisdom and understanding.
Still Waiting is a story about searching for understanding. (See Links 32,40)
“We are all compost for worlds we cannot yet imagine.” (David Whyte)
Composting has always been a bit of a surprise, an experiment: I never quite know what will slowly, and sometimes suddenly grow out of the bins’ corners.
And I am a composition of all the good wishes and warnings, insightful and thoughtless, helpful and spiteful comments, all the conversations I have ever had, and not just the ones I remember and took to heart, but all the ones I have forgotten, dismissed, ignored, rejected, ridiculed.
(See Links 32 & Read Text here)
What is it about free wine, food, free anything, that sends so many of us into a tizzy?
Interestingly, we sometimes question the virtue of free items because we judge them to have no, or low, quality. In our minds we unfairly de-value the thing, decide that there must be something wrong, if it’s free.
Some meeting spots create the conditions to support a rich, diverse marine life, including Krill: tiny, shrimp-like sea creatures. To escape hungry predators Krill migrate daily, vertically, in huge swarms that can be seen from outer space; but despite their brave efforts they end as fodder: far down in deep waters when the sun is high, and near the surface of the rivers in the night.
Krill is a story about meeting places and parallel worlds. (See Links 32)
I fell off a ladder yesterday. The whole thing collapsed and I found myself lying on the ground, testing body parts, wondering about what I might have broken. It turns out I got away with a sprained ankle – it could have been so much worse, I tell myself. Sure, this will keep me not busy for a few days or more; perhaps it is a good time to practice my headstands, to see the world from a different angle.
Headstands is a story about speeding tickets, old paintings, perspective and framing experiences.
Some endings are explicit: clearly we are told what happens next: threads are gathered into tidy bundles, there is no room to question the explanation because the teller has decided on this version, as the truth. Other endings are implicit, and have you wondering what it means to live happily ever after. (See Links 30, 31, 32 )
Explore an icy world in this Yoga Nidra practice. (Special guest voice by Peter)
My late MIL was a weaver. She wove beautiful blankets, scarves and shawls, but my favorites are the multicoloured patterned towels that I use to dry my hands, that glow with contrast and harmony, thread together colours that you or I might neverdare, unless you know their art, which she did.
sundogs.blog 