Whispers in My Ear

Or, Distinguishing Random Life from Serendipity

People keep giving me things to read that are telling to SHUT DOWN.

Books about Machu Picchu. Books about moving to the country in Vermont.

It always seems so hard to distinguish between what is the universe whispering in my ear and what is just an act of random noise. Like windchimes moving against each other in a hard northwesterly.

The problem I being somewhere in between. Being committed to halfway. To starting the race on foot, then getting a ride for the last mile.

I  keep feeling my heart (or is it my soul) tugging at me to get out. To have less. To write more and stop needling away with the unnecessary.

I live in an illusion of separateness, but the choices I am making are binding  me to a world of speed, of need for things.

For the last week, I’ve been having to take two baths a day, to take care of a wound that needs to be kept clean. It’s a odd thing that I rarely do: stop and take a soak. Floating in the water, reading a book, enclosed quietly while most everyone is sleeping, I can hear the silent refrain of my heart.

Less = more.

“As you simplify your life, the laws of the universe will be simpler; solitude will not be solitude, poverty will not be poverty, nor weakness weakness.”   — Thoreau