Growth

I came across this concept taught by Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev in “Midnights with the Mystic”.

 

                      growth is toward dissolution…dissolving limiting aspects of the personality,

                      dissolving limiting impressions taken in over the years,

                      dissolving bondages of a limited existence.  

 Generally, I thought about ‘growth’ as becoming more, taking in more understanding, learning how to perceive circumstances in a different way and sustain that perception. Mostly, I thought about ‘growth’ in the mental universe, a place of enlightened thought acquisition and storage. But I like the idea of ‘growth’ as becoming less and less involved with physical matters, past experiences and outcomes. Growth is expansion, further and further away from knowledge which seems sedentary and stagnant now.  Unlimited possibilities are only viable on a miraculous level, meaning beyond the fathoms of my imagination.

 Sometimes I am still attached to outcomes, to completions, and yes, to certainties. A Capricorn’s struggle, I guess.

 How do you experience ‘growth’?

Do you grow by becoming more and more, or less and less?

Best wishes, Whisel*

Catch – 22

I collect stuff. For my art. For my current or future necessity. Or so I imagine.

Typically, I hem and haw over casting away a really superb future necessity item. Mostly because as soon as I discard it, at least two good uses for it come to mind. But the problem is, as long as I hold onto it, I have no idea how to integrate it into my environment or artistry. So I put it away. Someplace where I am sure not to find it for a couple months. Losing track of it is not intentional. It’s just the way of the world in my collections.

Ah, it’s out of sight, and yep, out of mind. Then I run into it again and exclaim: “Oh yeah, I remember that. I’m keeping it for a future use, cuz I know it will come in handy some day.”  And then it gets shuffled back into the hodge-podge of immensely interesting things. I keep unearthing it from time to time and wonder what the heck I could use it for. Eventually I decide it’s taking up too much space. Out it goes. As soon as I discard it in such a way that I can no longer retrieve it, good uses come to mind. I think: “I wish I had kept that item now.”

But truthfully, if I had kept it, I would have no use for it. 

Best wishes, Whisel*

Rain & Beef Stroganoff ~ How much is enough?

Here it comes……rain on my window.  Spring! Happy Equinox! 

Rain is falling lightly on my window, dabbling with its awakened abilities to moisten, cleanse and who knows…. maybe flood certain areas. Too much of a good thing, or even a necessary thing can be a disaster. A nice, easy, moderate rainfall is a gift to the Earth, but torrential sheets of crashing waves of water tear up the topsoil, uproot the plants. 

Now about last night and that beef stroganoff I made… yummy, but did I need to eat a whole heaping plateful of the dish? No, I didn’t, but yes I did. I flooded my internal receptacles with torrential waves of pasta, beef and sour cream. Ow-ow-ow…. it hurts just to think about it.

Today, I’m carrying around a one-cup measure for meal-times, so I know how much is muchly. Do you ever have a fantastic craving for something that pushes you over the comfortable limits of indulgence? Sometimes my obsession with altered art carries me way past my comfort time. Like, is it 3am already? And, ouch, my body has become one with my chair.

About that equinox thing, where this is equal to that, I find I don’t have enough hours in the day to get everything balanced out and still enjoy obsessions. What are your obsessions? And how do they skew your balance? And doncha love it when they do?

Best wishes, Whisel*

Lives of the Saints

 

Tomorrow is St. Patrick’s Day. Some will be donning green dress, eating corned beef and cabbage and maybe adding four-leaf clovers to their mojo bag. Being brought up Polish and Catholic, I was encouraged to favor St. Joseph a bit more than that Irish chap by wearing red on March 19th. I don’t know much about the red. Maybe it was his favorite color.

 

Being Saint oriented when I was younger, I had a fondness for St. Francis. It was the animal thing that swayed most kids into his camp. Eventually, my interest in heroes shifted over to St. Christopher who was said to have carried Baby Jesus or Toddler Jesus across the river on his shoulder. In later years the Catholic Church demoted him since there may be no evidence that this really happened. And then too, why would the Toddler Jesus be hanging out at a river without his parents? It is a bit suspicious, but anyway…. the idea of him could still be a lucky talisman for travelers. I have his medal even now. I keep it in a pouch with my lucky penny, my gold capped- wisdom tooth and my crystals. And I’ve been a safe traveller thus far, so who to say that maybe a little help came thru him? Fictitious legend or not.

 

My favorite female Saint was Joan of Arc. But it was a bit edgy to do any research on her. Yanno…she had visions, heard voices and made predictions, so right away… I thought she was someone special. And by doffing men’s clothing and armor, she fought in battles with the boys. The nuns wanted us to focus on her being burnt at the stake, rather than on her emotional maelstroms or on her brief, androgynous career. But it was just that hush-hush, under the radar energy that I loved about her story.

 

I don’t have any favorite Saints anymore. Maybe it’s because my understanding of who they might have been and how they may have functioned has changed over the years. But I do enjoy wearing green, eating Irish food and feeling lucky. So happy St. Patrick’s Day. And Erin Go Bragh!

Best wishes, Whisel* O’Hara

Cabin Fever

Having been gone from the Village for three weeks and several days, I am happy to return and be counted among the still thriving.  Why haven’t I written? Well, it could be the agitation of end of winter, which I am really longing for. But tomorrow another snowstorm is heading this way.  Well, it could be cabin fever and the mambo and cha-cha-cha I do for exercise. Well, it might be the Full Moon with it’s preceding and postpartum days. I’m sure it’s me and my scattered enery moving from room to room, idea to idea, thought to thought, not resting, not resolving, just glancing from precipice to precipice like a good ole mountain goat.

Or it could be Spring fever, or Winter fever or carpet cleaning fever. I know it has to do with snow, all shades of white and grey, paint, paper, brushes, cats, cell phones, coloring pages and a list of solid gold oldies.   I’ve been busy with the itty-bitty things that have no particular agenda or lasting expression. I touch a shadow, light it up for a moment… and move on. Life is good, but the days are erratic, some beginning at 3pm in the afternoon. I write my hope on the tablets of melatonin and vitamin D.  Give me some real sunshine and I will give you an honest posting of flowers, honey and free-spirited, frontage road walkers.

This is my montage of induced hibernation during a transitional season. This winter seemed longer than the last three all together. Or maybe it’s me. :::shudders:::  Nahhhhhh….  I know a few Minnesotans even crazier than this.

Best wishes, Whisel*