I really know so little. So very little. And the things I think I do know–I have to ask–how much of that is mine? And how much has simply settled upon me–fallout from multiple sources, so to speak, that leads to ideas and opinions and notions and convictions that–when REALLY examined–may or may not have authentic genesis within my own being? So asking these questions this morning, I’m thinking about knowing. About how I come to know things. To know truths. My own truths. And where do the certainties of these truths come from?
There was a time–many many moons ago–when questions like this arose as mental exercises brought on by, oh–you know–substances. And unlike Bill, I did inhale. But this morning, these questions are arising organically. Along with the need to arrive at the purest part of self–that essential nugget that knows and has always known what is real and what is not.
I’m tempted to bail on this posting. And out of discretion I may do so, but for now I’m going to continue. At any moment grandson will fly in the backdoor and I will be pulled out of this place and into the day. And that will be good. But now….
Now I’m thinking about yesterday. About what happened here. Women gathered. In circle. And although the hearth was lit by candles rather than large flame, the gathering around fire felt ancient and full of eons of tradition. And I heard the question “will the circle be unbroken” and the answer. “The circle is intact. The center holds.”
For me it was a threshold and a personal passage. Intention set for what remains of my days. Intention to subscribe only to authentic, pure, undistilled essential self-truths. And helping to set that intention, the presence of the women here–and artifacts from women afar. Grace’s altar cloth. Mo’s “The Talinistic 2013” art print. Linda’s “Love Altar.”
But now my train of thought has been diverted. Grandson is querying how many miles a minute the washer is spinning. “Fast, I tell him.
Very fast.” So go my days.