Another purging, releasing me right here into this moment.
Washing machine whirs and pulsates the furred infested sheets.
Swamp cooler blasts evaporated air into the house with windows shut,
blinds drawn to ensure maximum effort of coolness.
A head full of something (history, memories, falsehoods, judgements), that
shows itself as a cold begins to release.
And with that,
the words, on the yellow butterflies wings I saw last week begin.
I steppped out of myself last Thursday on a walk with my five year old
retriever/vizsla, Lucy. I watched a new Mary walk right out of my physical form.
I was her. Became her. The old body/Mary/form; dissolved. No longer existed.
Within a moment not even as much as a moment.
I continued walking Lucy, unafraid. Not wondering where the more solid form of me
had retired to. It was time and apporpriate for this walking out of and into,
I’ve been feeling humble lately. Humility has been thrust upon it feels.
Oh, how lovely to accept the lesson of truly not knowing the how or why or when or if,
He buys me roses nearly every week now. One, two, sometimes three.
Red, pink, orange. Variagated yellow with orange rims. Some lasting longer than others.
I keep them long after the scent and petal have faded. They disintegrate as beautifully
as they blossom. I don’t expect him to do this for me. I used to buy the flowers for myself.
I wanted to take responsibility for this seemingly simple piece of joy.
I have no expectations, so every time, when I arrive home and step into the kitchen, or my office,or our bedroom and see the one, two, or three dozen roses still wrapped in celophane and the little green package of flower food.
My heart leaps.
I find that, when I don’t have expectations for:
what might happen at work,
when I will next see my sons,
who my next teacher will be,
what my zen practice will look like,
when I don’t have expectations, the whole world can be new.
Full of possibility.
Full of love.