Winter falls silently across the morning,
a blanket of snow stretches over the dreaming earth.
Unmarked paths of white wait in quietude.
My January 3rd small stone, tossed into the river.
I found this difficult to do today, and had many thoughts about giving up. It is almost impossible, it seems to me, to capture in words or photos the beauty of the first big snowfall, when the world is hushed and the snowflakes waltz down from the sky, romancing the earth before covering her in winter’s white and sparkling jewels and clothing.
Paint Mines Interpretive Park. Calhan, Colorado. August 2010.
Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.
~ T. S. Eliot
I’m not sure I have many followers here at Bountiful Healing anymore. I’ve let the blog stagnate, occasionally bringing back the posts I set to private when I thought I might be shutting this place down.
I have found, though, that this blog doesn’t want to be shut down. I’m drawn back to it from time to time. This is one of those times. Some of the plans and challenges I have coming up might require the morning attitude adjustment this blog brought to me. I might also find it a good place to play, just as I did in the past. It can’t be all seriousness all the time.
In keeping with fresh starts, I’ve redecorated a little. It was a strange thing, changing the theme. I’ve used that theme since the beginning of Bountiful Healing. It will be fun seeing what I can do with the new one, but I suspect I’ll miss the old one every now and then (especially during those times I’m not sure what I’m doing with the features on the new one). I will continue to bring back some of the old posts as well, little by little. I’ve resisted doing it all at once because I know it causes tons of emails to be released to those who have email subscriptions. Slow and steady ought to do it, for the blog as well as the plans and challenges I’ll be dealing with soon.
(Approaching the abyss)
We have no where to go (really) but down — eventually we must all let go and jump — it is supposedly that act which propels us to the next level — to enlightenment. What would bring us to this point — where are we willing to give up the self? Does the fall into the abyss always result in enlightenment? How would we know? What do we have to give up to make such a leap?
~ Hakuin Ekaku
I don’t know how we know. I do know one of the things we have to give up to make a leap, any leap, is fear. I’ve had to give it up a few times, to carry on with the commitment I made to get outside every day. I think it was the commitment that gave me the courage to give up the fear so I could make those leaps.
Or maybe I’m just plain crazy, like The Fool in the Tarot, a card I have long identified with. Sometimes it takes a little crazy to move on or move up, or even just to carry on.
(The storage room. Washington, D.C.)
Wonder begins with the element of surprise. The now almost obsolete word ‘wonderstruck’ suggests that wonder breaks into consciousness with a dramatic suddenness that produces amazement or astonishment. Because of the suddenness with which it appears, wonder reduces us momentarily to silence. We associate gaping, breathlessness, bewilderment, and even stupor with wonder, because it jolts us out of the world of common sense in which our language is at home. The language and categories we customarily use to deal with experience are inadequate to the encounter, and hence we are initially immobilized and dumbfounded. We are silent before some new dimension of meaning which being revealed.
~ Sam Keen