The need to choose which bits of me I want to keep and judge which bits I want to reject. What if nothing needs to be taken away: what if there’s space for it all?

Noticing, appreciating and being grateful for the everyday things helps anchor in the now so I don’t live as much in an if/when: if this were different I could live my life; when things change I’ll be happy etc.

I’m alive. I’m relatively healthy. I have comfortable shelter, the company of family locked down with me, and a plentiful supply of tea.

When everything is ultimately transient, what really matters to me is to direct action to the values I perceive as the most important That helps, in a shifting landscape (and it’s shifting a lot currently) to feel more grounded.

I’m less likely to wait for life to happen; more likely to experience it now.

A week or so ago. I opened up to it for a moment and then pulled away to whatever I was doing. In that moment before I did so it felt spacious. Part of me says I should have spent more time on it but then the words of today are spot on: it’s not about the measure of time.

Looking at the present moment I am grateful for being able to sit on this comfortable chair, to have light come in the window beside me, to hear bird sounds and wind, to smell wooded ash from yesterday’s fire, to taste the promise of a hearty breakfast, and to feel relatively safe and secure (notwithstanding the pandemic).

If “known personally” none spring to mind. If “known” in the sense of “encountered” then many teachers online or in book form whose ideas have changed my trajectory.

Family member who’s a bit isolated on their own in the lockdown. A call is a good idea.

Aside from the obvious, my home, old libraries. There’s something comforting about being near shelves of old books, sitting at a comfortable table in an old chair.

The joy of red, perhaps,
vibrant;
Arresting my attention,
But ultimately only appreciated
when draped into
beauty.
A rose is a rose;
But a rose clothed in red:
what grace.

To do my best not to put a strain on the health system. By being careful and self isolating I lower the risk for me and others.

Every step of the way there is someone. When I stop to look up I may find a person. Sometimes they find me; there’s grace in that.

That I can start laying the masks down and show my true self. And do so one conversation at a time.

I’ve been experiencing some Tonglen in my meditation. I’ve an open mind on it. Not sure where it will lead. It certainly augments the sense of connectivity across all beings.

Any support I reached out for was just when I needed it. Any teaching I sought was just when a teacher was there. It’s in the nature of things that when we look so shall we find.

It seems to be an inter-generational dream. My ancestors wanted what was best for their next generation and that dream flows through me to the next.

More than one wise person who showed me that what I thought was broken was whole. One of them lead me to the Leonard Cohen lyric that is at the heart of it. “Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.”

This is a good question to help me ponder what I need versus what I want. I can pay attention more to this difference.

Thanks for sharing this poem. I didn’t know it. It touched me.