Like a bird dog flushing out the quarry from the bushes... I must expose hidden assumptions, that they may be processed and studied. If they are "hidden," I don't know they exist and cannot hunt for them, per se. I find that the wandering of my soul pushes me against these hidden assumptions. Yoga, meditation, art, poetry, and writing provide methods and practices to do just that.
Searching and sifting and rooting in the soft soil of my existence, looking for the magic;
taking All, be it worms, grubs, shiny pebbles or buried
flotsam and jetsam.
In the end, it is all hidden treasure, the footprints of my passage through this temporal existence.
I suspend judgment and accept what It
is.
May I become at all times, both now and forever
A protector for those without protection
A guide for those who have lost their way
A ship for those with oceans to cross
A bridge for those with rivers to cross
A sanctuary for those in danger
A lamp for those without light
A place of refuge for those who lack shelter
And a servant to all in need.
The attic was getting very dusty. No time to play up where the bats sleep anymore, it seems. I got to wondering... if I cleaned the place out, would I come back up here and play? Only one way to find out... no time to build an entirely new structure, so I used someone else's blueprints.
I haven't been here— this webspace— in almost three years! Shame... fie on thee! Not to visit one's own dusty attic surely points to some sort of major preoccupation, or at least a subliminal aversion.
Or was it that I was BUSY?
Rather than ask one's self
"Do you like this, or do you dislike this?" I would ask "No matter like or dislike, do you know why you feel that way?"