No one can hand you your adventure-- you can't even hand it to yourself. We fall into all our adventures. We turn a corner and there it is. Winking at us. Blowing us a kiss. Smiling. And the next step tells the tale. The next step depends upon the state of our heart at the time and our relationship with it. How much heart? How much head? Is always the question. We can never think our way forward, we must feel our way there, trusting ourselves to know the right thing to do when we see it, and waiting for the validating confirmation from disinterested sources-- perhaps the next headline we read and a snippet of conversation between the people ahead of us in the check-out line. Things come together in unpredictable ways on our way to the next adventure, to lead us along the path that cannot be discerned as a path, and click into place creating direction and flow, carrying us along independent of our will and desire, and often contrary to them. It is the nature of adventure to have a will of its own, and if we say "No!" with a Noble Heart, it will come back around, and won't leave us alone, until we change our mind in a "Have you lost your mind completely??!" kind of way.
2 thoughts on “December 11-B, 2022”
Should I move that log in the picture out of the pathway in a completely have-I-lost-my-mind kind of way?
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I considered removing it with Photoshop, and let it be, thinking it may be a part of the log’s path, being in the path, producing this kind of reflection, which lends itself to observe this as the kind of ambivalence that shadows every decision/choice. Is it helpful? Is it interference? Does making things better, make them worse? We can talk ourselves into utter immobility by over-thinking everything in the name of “being aware of it all.” Emptiness comes to the rescue, and we do what we do, and let that be that. I would not object to your moving the log. Moved becomes part of the log’s path as well as unmoved. The log “just is” wherever it is. It makes no difference to the log. Or to the path. What we do is up to us, spontaneously, of the moment, without defending, justifying, excusing, explaining what is done or not done. The freedom to act as needed shall not be infringed–it all shifts the future somehow, for better or worse, better and worse, because it can’t help but do so. The Japanese prefer to leave imperfections in their art, and their tea ceremonies, as an acknowledgement of the imperfection of perfection, which is often not seen because nothing is calling attention to itself, thus disappearing from view–and memory–as “just another pretty picture.”