This Ground, This Breath

This is the view from the center of my house. After having lived in a bit of a topographical depression for years before moving earlier this year, I regularly marveled at this new perspective, high among the trees. Ever a lover of nature, I felt fortunate to be able to so easily observe the birds, especially as they foraged in our fig tree (just below the sightline of this photograph). And even with all the trees, I was struck by a spaciousness and a sense of abundance that had been familiar to me as a child growing up in the countryside. In short, simply peering out of this house on a hill brought me joy. This week it occurred to me that I hadn't noticed my view in awhile. The busy-ness of life has a way of doing that--of making the marvelous monotonous. We, humans, really like stimulation, and we love novelty, so it's not surprising that time and repetition seemed to have already robbed me of this newfound perspective. It's not that I hadn't continued to look out...

Those who know me know that I keep a fairly neat house, but most probably don't know that I'm not the most disciplined when it comes to regular housecleaning. Often what happens is that I get started on a task and then I notice something that seems more pressing in the moment (or that I'd simply prefer to be doing), and I eventually end up several tasks removed from the   initial one without much really being accomplished. I'm left feeling ineffective and dissatisfied with much of the work still looming. On a recent afternoon, I was determined to dedicate a few hours to cleaning, staying focused long enough to complete several tasks. I got almost all of it done, and what I didn't finish was simply the result of running out of time, which allowed me to feel just fine about it. Not only did I feel pleased with what I'd accomplished, my mind felt calmer and freer than when I'd begun because I'd been fully engaged with each task. What was clear...