An early morning treasure hunt

It is my birthday.

53.

My beautiful daughter Iona wakes up early, makes breakfast for me and presents it so beautifully.

With so much love and enjoyment.

I am then led outside where I have my own treasure hunt.  The kittens follow us.

First she leads me to under the sweet chestnut , then to pigeon hok and landing up at the little plant I love most.  And there under the Santa Maria was a bag and in that bag was a glass picture frame in a heart shaped box.  She has changed the picture in it several times already.  Like a hand version of the digital photo frame.   First she put in a picture of me on Mount Aranachula, a year before her birth.  My hands are in a position of prayer and I was so fully in the vortex the entire time I was there.  So it was interesting that she chose that.  She then put in a picture of Tyler and Pia- well drawing representations of them.  Now there is a tree with the sun rising to the left.  All her drawings – her showcase.

I get a lift into town and I sit in the back.  I like sitting in the back.  I lose the need to sort of parent and co captain.  So I just sat back and really focus on the landscape.  It is the most beautiful summer day.   The vines have created a thick tapestry of green.  And I will drop any pontification at this point because it would detract from the magnificence.  The sky is startling blue with an occasional very white cloud contrasting.  I spot a few leaves becoming autumnal, an ever such slight chill once the sun is gone.  I see so clearly how blessed I am.  I live in the most beautiful landscape imaginable.  Open, surrounded my mountains.  I feel this grace.  I see my friends in the front of the car and again I am aware of the blessings.  The tarred road, the eagles and crows flying overhead, the scent of fecundity everywhere.  The honey bees here still happy as there is no cell tower nearby.  And the more we drive the deeper I sink into that transformative space of gratitude.  

I arrive home unpack produce and head to Lesley.  She is slumped into a funny shape and it is hard to contort her into a normal pattern.   Apparently morphia does that.   I don’t know what to do, I have never been with someone so close to death before.  Not human.  So I did what I always do with dying animals – I sing to them.  But this time was different.  This time I had the Daime songs and what is more with all the ceremonies in December my voice had strengthened and I knew the songs quite well, which makes a difference.  So I sang the English ones, and each one was as if the collective of the community was present in that space.  The voice was the whole.  I sang and I sang and I sang.

There is wilde dagga outside her bedroom window and a birdbath.  So whenever she opens her eyes there is a sunbird or a dove.   And her eyes shine.  She tries to talk and I tell her she really does not need to and she with relief goes back to pure awareness in her beautiful garden.

With the healing sun pouring its light onto the vegetation. 

I take myself off to the well.  

The dark space in the heated village.

 A place guaranteed to allow silence.    There were 5 candles around the well and 3 candles against the wall. 

Donged the gong also 53 times, one for each sun rotation.   It took a long time.  A very long time and yet each vibration was equally profound.   Iona is reading this as I write and she tells me that there are also 53 countries in Africa and that I donged for them to.  Yeah why not.  With a lot of love.

 

Ricky made me a carrot cake with lemon icing and a friend took me to dinner.  

And in the past where birthdays were somehow a distant memory of the birth process and suddenly realizing in the process remembering that I was already forgetting, I was already been sucked away from the source.  There was always on that astrological date a contraction.  This year a round of gratitude brought on a totally different experience.  Pieter was away, so that old patterning was also deactivated.

I love it when the parasitic mind gets caught before it spins the web of illusion.

And I must also love it when I am spinning within the illusion because I can only get what I ask for.

Because of yes being the only word.   It takes away the potential arising of victim hood and something at the mercy of something outside of oneself.  Making each interaction worthy and of value   something unfolds whenever I go out on my walks now. A phrase arises and the phrase that arises is

 I am that.

Upon seeing the leaf –  I am that.

Upon seeing the snail – I am that.

Upon seeing the honey sucker or septic tank sucker – I am that. 

I am everything I happen upon. 

 And I am the sun in the midday and as it sets.  I am the moon and the starts, the sea and the wind.    Makes the walking even more magical – something I thought was not possible.  For an hour a day.

I come here to write this and I just know all the right buttons for a picture to enter my mind about the world right now.   I see massive snow storms, earthquakes, volcanic rumblings. 

The earth has to shake – she has to shake herself free.

We are all protected.

We are not these bodies.

We are pure light – there is a collective re-remembering of this.

And the fear lessens and we find ourselves liberated from the paradigm of limitation and loss.  We find ourselves spending more time in awe at the infinite possibilities of being.  We start to laugh more, laugh deeper.  And it is not because life got any easier it is just that we start to see that we have been looking in the wrong places for spirit.

On that note I think it is time to step outside into the village and see who I bump into.  See who is painted in the canvas.

Just one long adventure…………..

Ever changing,  devotional………

 So much awakening ......