SPIRIT WAS STRONG THERE

The forest and fields were full of wonderful signs and omens, talismans and totems, happenings of spiritual import and significance. The intermingling things physical and metaphysical are strong there. Of course, in Vedanta, Advaita, or Nondualistic terms, - there is really no difference. Everything comes together. Maybe because it was my birthday. Maybe because I was aware and quiet. Who knows?

 

It was a loop of time where there was nobody. The trees and the thickets, the old logs with shadows on them and about them, were allowed to be themselves, to present themselves. There are holes where snakes and other things hide. In the branches some birds yell and talk, exchanging gossip or perhaps they talk to me. It’s hot, but inside of the pathways one is protected from the harsh sunshine and a little wind finds its way through there. I asked to see a dragonfly, and that one stop by me long enough to picture, and suddenly, right then, it happened.

Going all around there, yet with no direction, I could stay as long or little as I wanted to. If I felt to go on, to the East, I could. If I wanted to sit and rest on the old logs in the sunshine, well that would be fine also. Reflection. Quietude. But not too much, - for the good wind flares up and brings over the tall grasses and wild white wildflowers of the afternoon. The dogs pick up a run, round and round some large trees where chaparral and feral shrubs grow near the bottom. The sand is thrown up and makes the sky opaque for a moment. A beetle walks.

A caterpillar goes along a small piece of wood.

Some single strand of a bamboo-like growth, - green, has grown out from the wall/curvature of the sandpit. I look around and go to a near old tree where the dogs rest in the shade.

Old machinery,- from a long ago time- rusted,- sitting in the seasons- two large pieces- having seen winters and springs, summers and of course the most pastoral and picaresque of times,- the pastoral autumnal hours when the leaves turn hues and that inner change can be felt, the one of the departed summer and the new beginnings. There is the long pathway, - one of them anyhow- and the butterfly on the dirt and dried leaves.

Soon after it is time to leave. Chipmunk and mushroom, blue flower and spider web, tall

flaxen hill to the right, - dazzled and shining from the sun. I see it through the trees, but don’t go there. You can’t go everywhere all the time. 

You have to find the miracle where you are.

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