With the Absence of Words

With the absence of words: 

to not be afraid to wait in silence, or more truly, giving up the need to write at all and simply be comfortable with the absence of words. This is where inspiration finds me, sitting at my desk, patient, coffee at hand, content with the quiet of the morning. I have no doubt that words will appear, as they do everyday at just about the same time. But the difference now, vastly so from many years before, is that I no longer reach for them, there's no anxiety or concern that this will be the day that inspiration alludes me and there won't be a single meaningful sentence on the page.

I'm comfortable with the absence of words. 

yet confident that they'll appear. 

it's with this paradox that I became a writer.

art should never be a source of stress, anxiety inducing, nor bring about any concern or even slightest thought of failure. This occurs only through the demands an artist has with inspiration, that it must obey the whims of ego and be present at their beck and call. For decades I struggled with my writing, having a streak of words for a week or two and then nothing to write of for weeks on end. Or so I believed. But the truth is, there was no appreciation for the silence between words, that this is where the magic happens and my role is to prepare myself for its arrival. This is a holy time, a moment for rituals to be performed, cleansing myself of my own demands and surrendering completely to the whims of inspiration. And now, there is no struggle...

I write what's freely given.

abiding in the silence that's offered in between. 

happily so. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Blessing of Bluebirds

A blessing of bluebirds: 

there's recently been a blessing of bluebirds in my neighbor after what seems a very long absence, years having gone by with only a rare appearance. I see them almost daily now, a joyful splash of blue against the still stark branches left by winter. At one point there was concern for the bluebird population, their range having been reduced by as much as 70% due to competition with house sparrows and starlings, both species having been introduced to the area and wrecking havoc on many native songbirds. It seems they have recovered nicely, once again offering their beautiful song and vibrant color. 

a blessing of bluebirds indeed. 

these songbirds have long been considered a symbol of happiness, their coloring inspiring song, poems and prose throughout the ages. Many indigenous tribes of the Eastern United States believed that the bluebird could ward off the worse of winter, the beauty of its song causing the spirit of cold weather to retreat and usher in the warmth of spring. Across the world they're a symbol of hope, that happier days will be returning soon and that this lovely bird inspires the courage to have faith. 

for so many of us the bluebird is a spirit animal, a guide that sees us through some darker days. Even more so now with their return from such a steep decline, showing us the rebound of nature if given the proper concern and care. Their absence from the world would truly be tragic, a symbol of hope forever gone, felt throughout the fabric of nature all the way to the essence of our soul. The message that bluebirds offer me is that hope comes with equal action, that it's not enough to care unless I offer my commitment to the world, to all who suffer and despair. 

that my heart contains a blessing of bluebirds as well...

and this is what I offer to the world. 

~

Peace, Eric 

 

Direct Experience

Direct experience:

I love the direct experience of yoga, the entirety of the path, from the ethical and personal suggestions all the way through breath and postures, withdrawal of the senses, to the three points of meditation that accumulate in samadhi as the final stage of practice. Of course there really is no endpoint here, direct experience itself is an an ongoing flow of existence. 

there is no final stage of practice. 

or so it seems to me.

and that's what I love about my practice, not just on the mat but in it overflows to every aspect of my life, an awakening in every instant through a deep appreciation of simply being alive and astonished by this gift. This has been the direct experience of yoga, nothing esoteric, just finding joy in the stretch of body and working with the breath, a growing sense of care and empathy towards others, and an immersion into the vibration of mantra until falling softly to the easy hold of silence. It's all carried with me now, not through stages, more of a seamless flow from first waking moment to the entirety of my day. I find myself in love with life, it's every challenge, and the means given for me to meet them. 

the direct experience of simply being alive. 

without need to change a single thing.

and that's the path of yoga.

or so it seems to me.

~

Peace, Eric 

Season of March

Season of March: 

all night the wind played a long and distressed howl against my bedroom window. It's early morning now, dark, and the wind still present, just as fervent, not inviting at all as I contemplate my walk of several miles. There will be branches strewn across the paths, maybe even trees down, and the wind will cut through every layer I have on and chill me straight to the bone. I'm warm in my small home office now, drinking coffee as I write these words, small heater next to me whispering warmth in contrast to the cold sound outside my window. March is often a bitter month, drastic in its change of weather, never quite settling into a single season, almost eager to keep a grasp on winter. 

in a way, it's like a season completely on its own - an entire month of erratic behavior, rain and sweeping winds that at any time can turn to ice or snow, offering blizzard conditions that shortly give way to the warmth of sun and gentlest breeze. I'm sure that I'll walk every morning of this month, well before dawn and in the thick of whatever weather is presented. My curiosity calls for me to explore the season of March, at once loving, dreading its drastic offer. This morning they'll be the bracing wind and dodge of flying branches, tomorrow calls for more pleasant skies, warmer, and both mornings are aspects of a continuously changing season - and entire month displayed through every possibility. 

it's the season of March...

and I'm eager to explore all that it might offer. 

even as I listen to the distressing howl of wind, dreading its cold touch that's sure to reach me no matter what barrier placed between us. 

to truly know the fullness of the season, these early, dark mornings are the surest opportunity, a solitary excursion into the midst of its display. It's that thought that draws me to my doorstep, a brief pause, checking to be sure I've remembered every layer, and I'm into the wind.

immersed with the season. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Busyness

Busyness: 

feeling slightly thrown off course this morning, daylight savings time has just begun and my internal clock hasn't yet adjusted. Mainly this is due to my phone not calibrating to the switch of hours, I woke up quiet a bit past my usual time of preference. Now there's an urge to hurry, to make the morning fir my schedule and rush to make each minute meet my demands. These are holdover feelings from my more hectic younger years, when I was on the go even if I had no specific place I really had to be. Internally, I was busier then, my mind and body racing to get somewhere that they considered special, much more important than wherever I found myself that moment. 

I've slowed down quite a bit since then. 

happily so. 

it's not that I don't have priorities or preferences still, I certainly do, and I love following a schedule for my day even if it's less important now. My day seems to flow better when it follows a laid out plan, my health, both emotional and physical respond with an ease and grace to the things I commit to daily. Yet to rush to get any of this accomplished would defeat the point of all I do, and I'm better served to keep relaxed and simply allow the day to unfold without making my demands. 

allowing the busyness of my mind to settle.

and just go about my day.

even as I feel a bit behind. 

the truth is, these days, everything feels quite spontaneous, events arriving on their own without the need for me to make anything happen, and leaving just as easily with little interference from my end. This is so even with my scheduled plan of action, there's a magical feel to it all, as if the very thing I've most desired has suddenly appeared and invited my participation. 

magical indeed.

I've mostly let go of my busyness, or maybe I should say that it's been surrendered on its own. None of this was planned, yet it's exactly as it is, and there's no need for me to hurry. 

the very nest thing, whatever it might be...

will simply happen. 

~

Peace, Eric 

As Soul

As Soul: 

as soul, not being in possession of one, or that it's my true identity disguised as human form - but that it's more the expression of life itself, everything, seamlessly so. When I'm out in nature  there are times when I seem to know that I belong here, exactly where I am, and that I am simply part of the scenery, as sure of this as every tree and rock that fits so easily into this belonging. It's the same assured knowing that birds must feel in flight, held be the sky in tight embrace without even the slightest sense of doubt that the air is home. Honestly, I think I'm mistaken to even write that there's a knowing involved with this, it's deeper by far, as if the very fabric of beingness is in vast display of itself in varied form.

as soul.

everything. 

infinite in display. 

home.

~

Peace, Eric 

Natural Silence

Natural Silence: 

it's a nosier world these days, now more than ever there's an undercurrent of sounds that keep our nervous system on edge. I live in a beautiful town with inviting green space spread throughout, and I take full advantage of this with an active lifestyle of walking and running, seeking quiet and solitude in the earliest of morning before most people even consider getting out of bed. But still there are cars and buses in commute, planes in almost constant flight overhead, the low hum of the busyness of life in all it's myriad forms. It's seems a great shame that we've lost our natural silence, especially the quiet of night and those early hours of predawn when the world should be at rest. 

yet there is still a deep quiet to be found.

just beneath the dim of everyday life. 

if we listen...

we'll hear our natural silence once again. 

in the tradition of my meditation practice it's said that the ancient Rishis heard 108 sacred sounds, vibrational patterns of the cosmos that they translated into Sanskrit mantras to be used in for chanting and meditation. To follow the vibration of a mantra is to dive into deep depths of consciousness, our natural silence that is the allowing place for every thought and sound to occur. It's not the absence of sound that is found here, but a nourishing stillness that remains present after their passing. 

it's that presence that I return to.

and it's nature that shows me how. 

what I've learned is that every sound of nature is a mantra, a vibrational pattern that serves to bring me back to an easy quiet There's no need for me to chant or spend hours in deep meditation, the chatter of a squirrel scolding another, geese in honking flight above me, a stream giving voice to the motion of water - theses sounds carry me back to a natural silence. With each walk I am taught the true yoga of living in a nosier world, learning to rest just beneath the busyness of everyday life. 

to be a yogi, a Rishi...in a suburban world. 

~

Peace, Eric