Darkness. Light. Shadows. Whyte.

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Today we snowshoed, two of the Allies and I. 

The morning low was 3F/-16.1C and the midday high was 12F/-11.1C and the sun was shining bright in a sunblue sky for 6 hours. For whatever reason, my body was not chilled. In fact, I was sweating by the time I removed my snowshoes at the door. Berry just wasn’t feeling it today, and he was down the hill and back at the house before Pintō and I had completely descended 

Coyote Hill. 

Although lately I have been snowshoeing in silence, listening to our tracks in the snow, today I chose to listen to a podcast wherein Irish poet David Whyte was interviewed and recited his poetry. He has the lovely intentional habit of repeating certain lines of his poetry, making one think that maybe within the poem itself he had actually written the line twice. It seems to me that he repeats the stanzas he wants the listener to give attention to. There is a copy of his poem Sweet Darkness still hanging in a weathered state on the garden fence. This is one of my favourite poems written by Mr Whyte, and he recited it during the interview. 

You must learn one thing. 

The world was made to be free in. 

The world was made to be free in. 

Since having a dreamstate revelation given to me a month ago I have been catching thoughts when lies and fears and unrealities pop into my mind. 

Today was such a day. 

It’s all a manner of changing-up my synapses and giving them a different path to follow. I am changing-up my firing patterns. 

Synaptogenesis. 

Neuroplasticity. 

I am going forward. 

I am done with digging through my past to figure out why I can’t move forward. 

I am simply going forward. 

And that’s what I do every day of my life as I ascend Coyote Hill. 

I pray. I meditate. I ask questions of the Heavenlies and I don’t always get answers. 

I go forward. 

Sometimes my answers don’t come until I wake. 

Sometimes it takes allowing sleep to wipe clean the slate of my mind as my brain works through everything it has been flooded with during waking hours. 

But, I do know this: 

it helps to repeat the important lines. 

It helps to repeat stanzas of thought I want my mind to give attention to. 

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It’s a good life. 

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