Yesterday I literally woke up in a state of beginner's mind. It was raining and I found my ears and inner consciousness highly attuned to the atmosphere. Looking through the window I could see the silver maple branches looming through mist. The sound of water hitting leaves and grounds has become very familiar here in the northeast. I am the first to admit that I am not always delighted by it; sometimes I wake up feeling restless for sunlight.
I noticed right away that there was an absence of even a glimmer of that restlessness. I was glad it was raining. I felt myself cleansed by it at a psychic and emotional level. This was like finding a very smooth and super appealing river stone - the kind you have to bend over and retrieve to turn it around in your palm. You stare as if it's a scrying mirror even if you don't believe in such things.
Later the sun came out and I was even more delighted. Grabbed my camera to move through the jeweled green and colorful highlights of the garden beds. It occurred to me that I was remaining utterly willing to stay suspended in the moment. I wasn't doing anything to be in that place; it's just how I was at the core level. To my way of thinking this kind of extended trance is always an enormous gift of Self for self as well as the larger environment.
I wasn't planning to share the following life tidbit but, since I think the experience and my reaction to it has so much to do with my state of ongoing zen, I've decided what the hell. On Tuesday afternoon I was cleaning my kitchen floor. Right after I started the second rinse I fell. I hit the floor hard in a fullout belly flop position. My mind registered the loud and rather sickening smack of my body making contact with the linoleum. I realized most of weight had landed on my knee (the "bad" one I might add) and that I'd hit my nose pretty hard.
My first fully formed thought was thank god I didn't make floor contact with my mouth. I might have cracked some teeth. Then I thought shit. I said it out loud a couple of times. That left me free to shake the shock off enough to be practical and start a useful campaign of response. I thought Ice. Get up off this floor and put some ice on your nose and knee. As the day progressed into evening I realized I was bruised but not broken. And, thanks to the ice and how diligently I applied it, I wasn't that bruised, either.
I knew I was going to wake up very sore and, indeed, yesterday was quite slowed down in the physical sense. Fortunately I was in the middle of reading an excellent novel so that helped me stay quiet and relaxed while my body healed. This involved wearing glasses more than I usually do so by nightfall the bridge of my nose was pretty damn sore. Fortunately my knee is doing quite well. All of me is fine. And I have had the gratifying experience of re-calling the accident in minute detail for my husband and son.
It's a weird form of satisfaction to take but there's definitely something cleansing about standing on the scene of an accident and going through a play-by-play. And then I went down, right there. Look how close I was to the sink! I could have whacked my head but good on that or the edge of the counter but I didn't! I do feel extremely lucky about not hitting my head. And, also, that I fell front-ways rather than backwards. If I'd done the latter I'm pretty sure I would have wrenched my back and, more than likely, still not able to sit here at my desk this morning.
While I was icing my body I watched a film called Stranded. It is partially a documentary and also a re-enactment of a South American plane wreck in the early 1970's. In recent times the survivors traveled to the site of their 72 day ordeal with a film crew and some family members. This is not a movie for the squeamish or faint of heart but I believe it's an extremely well made film and am quite glad to have seen it. So many difficult and seemingly 'impossible' subjects were embraced and articulated as an expressive mandala of tremendous significance.
Today I woke up before the rain started. But now here it is again moving from a soft patter to more serious rhythms. As I was typing that sentence a female hummingbird approached the window by my desk. She hovered right above eye level and looked in at me. This is only the second time I've seen a hummingbird this year. Must be time to change the feeder syrup!
The novel I've been enjoying really was a fully satisfying read. I learned about it by happening upon a glowing review in The Improper Bostonian while I was waiting for Jim to finish a meeting the weekend we went into town. I was intrigued enough to list the book in my carry-along all purpose notebook and then request it through inter-library loan. This is wonderful story of two sisters, culture clashes, unalterable/regrettable choices, and many other things. Tania James has a sharp and humanistic eye for detail and a profoundly generous heart that's well applied to character development and internalized landscaping.
In recent months I have been collecting a lot of book cover art to keep in my creative source journal. I am making note of design trends as well as what I like about them. Sometimes the covers inspire me to play on their themes. In this case it will be challenging not to mimic what I like in a direct fashion. Because I've been thinking: in the atlas of my own 'unknowns' what linear maps of actual places form the backcloth and highlights? It's a question that's bringing a great deal to mind and so last night I asked my husband - the compulsive map collector - if he had anything on hand that was too worn out to use/obsess over but still whole enough to provide graphic interest.
He told me he'd 'bring the box down' so I could look through it. I almost clutched at him with excitement. He has an entire box of such treasures? I think I sort of knew that without having a clue of how much delighted anticipation I'd feel at the prospect of benefiting from perusal of the cache ...
