Essance

Dear blog, 

 

Today was a beautiful autumn day. 

Quiet, and mostly peaceful.

Yet...

Sometimes, when grownups and grownup mouths are too much...

When the mind swirls.

And you have a few options of where where is best, to go.

I often find, the best thing to do is exit the house, and go outside, and have random adventures.

To find the sunshine, and trees, and living things.

To escape word nets.

And fly outdoors.

Bess, myself, and my Nephew, did just this.

We found our way into the ditch, with the soft dirt, and sat under the Russian olive tree. Its fruit was ripe---little tiny olives, lime green, and we sat, and ate the little fruit around the big seed.

It was feathery, in texture, and very sweet, like a date.

My nephew thought it very nice.

We went back to the house, to check if we still had time to tinker outside. 

Mouths still busy.

Still had time. 

My nephew wanted to try our back machine that turns you upside down, and helps straighten your back.

It can be great fun. 

I sometimes go on at night, and see the sky, and get a great view. 

This, we did for a while, and then I got the singing bowls out. Just as I got them out, the neighbor kids, seemed to be on the same music vibe, because their boom box started a going. They like to jump from their roof to the trampoline. And they were sitting on the side of roof  with their boom box, a booming, and kids dancing on the roof.

Two kids jumping.

Boing. Boing.

Dancing.

Boom, boom.

Same time, our photographer neighbor parks by the side of the road with a couple she was going photograph, of soon to be mamma and daddy.

Bess me, and my little Nephew, went ahead, and made a joyful noise too, playing on the singing bowls.

With the boom box  booming.

Yet I think we got even louder then them.

Then Bess took my nephew into the ditch looking for rusty treasure, and different interesting items.

Meanwhile, my neighbor friend kid, ran across the street, and had his friend put his boom box in the long pipe under the road, and he went onto the side where I had just placed myself.

I bent town, and put my head close to the hole under the road, with a long, metal pipe underneath.

The sound, was amazing!

The best speaker system I’ve ever heard. The whole road was vibrating with music.

It was really something.

You’d lower your head, and the sound was just wow!

It was actually, a brilliant idea.

That was the same pipe my little neighbor friends, and I, would use to talk to each other through, when we were kids, and wanted to communicate from our house, to their house.

Now it was a music channel. At least for today. He showed me the song he was playing, but the name I can’t remember.

But it made me smile.

It could wake the neighborhood, I think, if you played music there in morning hours. 

And was reminiscent of my kid self.

Because the adults were still having fun talking, we spent the rest of the day, jumping on the tramp, and then chopping old sunflower stalks down. As that again, was the most abundant harvest this year, yet again.

Goats did find away in, yet again.

But I suppose gardening is all about the gardener anyway.

It is just a zen.

Digging in the dirt.

Zen.

Clearing the land.

Zen.

Smoothing it out.

Zen.

Raking.

Zen.

Weeding.

Zen.

Watering.

Looking.

Planting.

Seeding.

Zen.

Harvest.

Zen, harvesting the experience of whatever grows, or doesn’t.

Zen. Letting it be as it is.

Harvesting sunlight. Moments.

The song of birds.

The space.

Seeing the determination of my nephew as he focused on chopping the stalks down.

The way the earth hugs your feet, and molds to every season.

And embraces the life within itself, and without.

And takes it all in. Growing things.

Giving them away.

And taking it all as it comes.

A zen garden.

Rake the dirt in the pattern of life.

See the art in the design.

The beautiful spaces, and shadows, and light.

It, the space.

Where you are present.

Growing a garden of ourself.

As we and earth, and the sky remember a remembrance of the fabric of our soil.

 Before anything ever manifested.

The soul of the clouds, the spark of their beauty, the essence of songs so moist, they became a tangible vapor that gives life.

Trees, and mountains, and green things, breathed into living music.

Colors, flowers, and birds, songs of the first mother, that sang to the first child, turned into living wings, that sings still, and calls to those to remember.

Trees, once wise words, shelters, and protections and perches for the songs to live on, wisdom to keep our unity alive, planted deep, there to remind us all of roots, and branches, and sunlight, and shade, of shelter, and giving.

Wisdom held there, of all the once elders that spoke true words, so beautiful, they grow still, and the souls who know the trees, hear them whisper, in the twilight hours, the records of those long ago.

Mountains, places of utmost height.

Poems, they once were, the love language of the soul, a high place, and refuge, a seeing. Where God saw a glimpse of his own sacred space.

And so….

The stars, glint with a light of some once, spark of long ago. Eyes glistening.

Bright knowings.

And someday, when we know, the essence of all these things.

And the seeing, and seer-er, see.

The space beyond what is seen.

Will all creation remember its true nature, as its reflection is reflected within you.