Vulnerable.

Vulnerable. Just me, the surfer of life at work. Waves come at me and I try to not go under. The view is beautiful, sometimes scary, not sure if there is a meaning to it all, I just know that I’m doing it and getting a bit better as time goes by. Sometimes I get a glimpse of the shore and wonder what it would be like to be there, sitting in stillness, not girded for the next wave. All of the craziness of this job is people-created and we then live in it. Same goes for the wider world. Why do we consent? Do we realize we consent? Or do we…maybe the question should be… do we think we’ve consented when we’ve never been asked? A lashed together jumble of a raft, made up of old refrigerators, car parts, driftwood, water bottles, dreams, talking, commercials, furniture, Ikea dreams, and Tigerbeat magazine covers, all hurtling down the river and we all lunge to jump on board, lashing ourselves to the shakiest of beams, convinced that this is LIFE, the way forward.

What next, butterfly? To be in the stillness, the wild, the stillness. I’m in it all the time, of course, but only glimpse it through the noise and dust of movement. We look for a vehicle to take us there – the right job, retreat, marriage – the thing through which we will find IT. That’s choosing a different sort of noise, not actually stepping out into the stillness which is all around. It is in the letting go, the stepping outside of, the STOPPING., that we see it/feel/be. We still do have to pay the rent and buy food though….