Like roads and rivers and paths, I have always loved a good porch. It’s like the house, or place behind me, has my back, so I can sit in full openness to what’s in front of me. When I lean back, I lean in. Eyes open. Porches help me to expand and relax at the same time. Porches are places to sit and watch the world.
A place to practice gathering yourself?
Perhaps this is the message, the agenda-less agenda, of meditation. And this writing. The practice itself, whatever it may be, has my back. I can let my guard down when I feel this hand on my back. I can be gentle with myself. I can relax.
It's like my husband's hand, cupping my head; a comforting hand.
It's like my husband's hand, cupping my head; a comforting hand.
I like that perspective - thinking of the meditation as something that has my back. Even when I do let my guard down and find something other than what I expected/hoped for, my meditation and my writing (and my friends) have my back.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for checking in. Very grateful. And yes, when I/we let our guard down, it seems most often that I find something much softer than what I was expecting. Blessings.
ReplyDeleteSo true. I'm looking forward to the day I have a porch again. As a kid I used to get up at night to sit on the back porch and read and write and watch the sun rise. You remind me that even though I don't have a house built yet, I need to make a space to relax and meditate.
ReplyDeleteThe CRITTER Project and Naked Without a Pen