eyes closed
warm water
cascading
over my head
and body
I am standing
beneath a waterfall
on a tropical island
where snow and winter
never visit
A small stone for Day 14.
Water
All posts tagged Water
the steady drip of rain
against the window pane
ice melting, drizzling
pouring downhill
merging with the pond
one drop, one body
of water
at a time
Today’s small stone.
Silvery moonlight streams through the window
and onto the sticky mat
Where I am
Becoming
Space
Expanding
Gliding over the ice
Sohum
(I am that I am)
Riding the moonlight
How to hike in the Bogs: Take deep, deep belly breathes. Right down to your toes. Place one foot in front of the other. Step, slip, slide, pull, be grateful your boots are so firmly attached you can escape the suction of the mud trying to draw you down into the wet earth without leaving a boot or two behind. Smile. A lot. Sing. Listen to the birds answer your song. A walking stick is useful but not essential. Accept and enjoy the mud, the puddles, and the overall bogginess. Stop and admire the reflection of the sun and tree branches in the melting ice. Walk slowly. Magic happens. You’ll miss it if you move too fast.
Daily walks are an adventure lately. Between the record setting rainfall in 2011 and the melting of the foot or so of snow we had last week, the ground is soggy. The top photo was processed in Photoshop. It’s one of those trails through the woods where magic happens.
Sun and tree branches reflected in the melting ice.
Pulled from sleep, I leave the warmth of the bed, pad barefoot across the cold hardwood floor. At the window, the golden glow of an almost full moon lights up the sky, and pours over the icy surface of the pond. We greet each other in the stillness of early morning, a luminous embrace.
bubbling, babbling, burbling
the gurgling gush of the January thaw
water sprites splashing in the stream
Because we have not had a proper winter — lots of rain, warm weather, and very little in the way of ice and snow — I hesitated to use the term January Thaw, but it is January and the snow and ice from the past few days is quickly thawing as it warms up again. Good enough. 🙂
(Green frog by the pond. Photo by Robin. 2006)
An old pond
a frog jumps in
Sound of water– Matsuo Basho
Another old post revisited.
(Chesapeake Bay. January 2007. Photo by Robin)
Only in quiet waters do things mirror themselves undistorted. Only in a quiet mind is adequate perception of the world. ~ Hans Margolius
(January 2007. Photo by Robin)
Before Enlightenment: Chop wood, carry water.
After Enlightenment: Chop wood, carry water.— Zen saying
Washing dishes, my hands soak in the warmth and wetness of the dishwater. Washing dishes, I feel the steam from the water rising up my hands, my arms, breathing it in, soothing my sinuses on this dry winter day. Washing dishes, I listen to the bubbles popping and crinkling in the water, tickled as they burst on my arms and hands. Washing dishes, I delight in the feeling of clean. Washing dishes, I find a slow and graceful process of movement in the wiping, scrubbing, rinsing, and placing of the dishes in the dish rack. From right to left: wash, rinse, rack, wash, rinse, rack, wash, rinse, rack, until all the dishes are sparkling clean.
Washing dishes, the sunlight streams in through the window and warms me further. Washing dishes, I hear the sounds of traffic outside of our apartment building. The pattern of the traffic sounds begins to sound like waves, rolling in and out.
Washing dishes, I am thankful that my feet, legs, and back are all supporting me. Washing dishes, I am thankful for the floor, the building, and the earth that also support me. Washing dishes, I am thankful that I am right here, right now, washing dishes.
Washing dishes, I can see and feel my accomplishment, a job well done.
Bountiful Healing 