Echoes across the universe stretch out toward near infinity or true infinity, depending on your theory. Each moment changing the sound, the quality, the 'togetherness' of that distorting sound or image of what the initial creation was. Some say it is gone forever, deteriorating, dissipating, diluting. Others claim all the components of that thing--that source--that original creation are still here with us--or far away--but real and enduring. We need only gather those pieces together and place them properly. We only need a map, or a recording, or a memory of it exactly.
Even as we squash it back together, its essence dripping through our fingers and cascading down our arms--even as we go, whoops! and back up, our blunder only adding more haphazard dimension to the layers of recording---somewhere, somewhere, in THERE is the original, which we will eventually piece back together. And the moment of reassemblage becomes no moment. The sudden paradox might give us pause. Original or refurbished? Now it has history that moment of origin did not. Can it ever be the same? Was it ever the same?
Friday, April 06, 2012
Thursday, November 13, 2008
To Learn Beside the Wall
(written in my journal 2-24-07 but reflected on today)
Sometimes the forces of life are more powerful than all our urges and desires. Our wants are like pebbles thrown feebly against a formidable sandstorm's gale.
Pushing up against it is futile, yet we obstinately cry -- I am as David against Goliath! I have the right to win! In fact --I must! Push. Push. Push. To be said -- valiant... noble... brave? Or bullheaded? Only time and the majority's conclusions can tell.
Sometimes, however strange it may sound, bowing to the ocean's crashing tide is more noble and brave than swimming against its current. Surrender is not necessarily defeat. It's worth is hinged on two things -- coming from one root: Motivation.
Motivation. Your heart, your soul's compass, presents the key for one specific lock. Ego has many keys to various locks, but they open to find the same dank, darkness of the unfulfillable dressed up deceptively as the occasional gift of swaying temporal triumph.
Motivation. Victim or Observer? If one is motivated to find pain - as Ekard Tole calls the pain body -- then one's quest is to be the victim and one shall struggle against any brick wall with a stick of vivacious zeal and howl as the stick breaks
Ah! Evil life! I defy you!
And with bare bloody hands, one scratches up the wall until standing triumphantly at the top crying
Aha. I won! I beat the odds against me! I am great!
Such victory. Such valor. And the wall is still there. It is unmoved, undamaged, unruffled. The victim to the victorious? Just an extra spark of importance. But the wall has neither idea nor care about this.
Perhaps motivated by this story one shall seek out the next place where surely one shall be victimized yet again to show the world one's greater force. And eventually enemies shall be found at every stop sign, office floor, and grocery story whether they know who this seeking, seething victim/victor staring them down really is or not.
Straw enemies. Faked for the urge.
Motivation. Victim or Observer? For the open observer of the journey the foot of the wall is just as interesting and revealing as the top. The edge of the sea as fulfilling as the deep. The exploring observer connects with the Universe's wisdom and asks
Show me.
There is no need to be right but to learn.
Sometimes the forces of life are more powerful than all our urges and desires. Our wants are like pebbles thrown feebly against a formidable sandstorm's gale.
Pushing up against it is futile, yet we obstinately cry -- I am as David against Goliath! I have the right to win! In fact --I must! Push. Push. Push. To be said -- valiant... noble... brave? Or bullheaded? Only time and the majority's conclusions can tell.
Sometimes, however strange it may sound, bowing to the ocean's crashing tide is more noble and brave than swimming against its current. Surrender is not necessarily defeat. It's worth is hinged on two things -- coming from one root: Motivation.
Motivation. Your heart, your soul's compass, presents the key for one specific lock. Ego has many keys to various locks, but they open to find the same dank, darkness of the unfulfillable dressed up deceptively as the occasional gift of swaying temporal triumph.
Motivation. Victim or Observer? If one is motivated to find pain - as Ekard Tole calls the pain body -- then one's quest is to be the victim and one shall struggle against any brick wall with a stick of vivacious zeal and howl as the stick breaks
Ah! Evil life! I defy you!
And with bare bloody hands, one scratches up the wall until standing triumphantly at the top crying
Aha. I won! I beat the odds against me! I am great!
Such victory. Such valor. And the wall is still there. It is unmoved, undamaged, unruffled. The victim to the victorious? Just an extra spark of importance. But the wall has neither idea nor care about this.
Perhaps motivated by this story one shall seek out the next place where surely one shall be victimized yet again to show the world one's greater force. And eventually enemies shall be found at every stop sign, office floor, and grocery story whether they know who this seeking, seething victim/victor staring them down really is or not.
Straw enemies. Faked for the urge.
Motivation. Victim or Observer? For the open observer of the journey the foot of the wall is just as interesting and revealing as the top. The edge of the sea as fulfilling as the deep. The exploring observer connects with the Universe's wisdom and asks
Show me.
There is no need to be right but to learn.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Out of the Maze
Almost a year's gone by since last I wrote. Many things have changed. Some have stayed the same but seem different from a new perspective. When a loved one grows ill and dies it's like you're caught in a maze and it takes a long long time to get out of it. Sometimes you dont want to get out of it, because you think you'll never get back to the place where they are. Well, there is in fact no way back. If it took me another year to get back to the place where my mom was breathing and smiling and sitting up and being alive, well if that were possible, it would never be the same, anyway.
I cherish the moments I had with her. What a joyous experience to have known her. How lucky I was to have her in my life. Everyday I walk this earth is blessed by her having been in my life.
I am out of the Maze and I am amazed.
I cherish the moments I had with her. What a joyous experience to have known her. How lucky I was to have her in my life. Everyday I walk this earth is blessed by her having been in my life.
I am out of the Maze and I am amazed.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Cat in the Sun, Too!
A little sun goes a long way in bringing a cat contentment, especially after a lion cut. He enjoys the sun, he stretches, he cleans and grooms. Life is complete.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Bonzai in the Rain
My dear friend's Bonzai that I am taking care of -- the flowers bloom so brightly!
Monday, June 04, 2007
Home Improvement
coming soon....
well actually later...lol. How time flies. It's been many months since I was doing major home improvements. I sitback to write with some 5 months hindsight. Home improvement has many different meanings or includes many different aspects of life and relationships and is a very interesting and fertile ground for studying and reflection.
The story of the monk whose duty it was to sweep the floors, comes to mind. It seems very glaringly obvious when you are cleaning a rental for sale just how the dirt seems to go everywhere no matter what you do. The dirt never goes away, but it is placed somewhere else. Maybe to the next room or to the garbage bag. If you wash the dirt down, then it changes, desolves and becomes a liquid, but it is still there. It does not cease to exist, it just changes. Any feelings I have about that dirt, whether I enjoy cleaning it, feel a sense of accomplishment or burden, or am completely apathetic; well, those are my choices and do not begin from the dirt itself but from me. And so cleaning is a great way to study self.
Dealing with contractors is another way. LOL! This one can be a big challenge. My how there is the struggle for dominance, and you have to fight your own pride when someone you are paying does not do that for which you paid handsomely. So many judgements in such a statement. And so much stubborn 'truth' as well. I know many people who have been disatisfied with work done for them to improve their homesteads. Including me! It is almost a cliche by now. There are many good people out there who will do a just and honest job for you; best to keep their names on a handy list! And to the others? Well, that's a wee bit difficult.
How to keep your sanity and peace of mind, communicate like civil people, and reach an agreement? Hmmm. Can be difficult. For the laws on customer rights, I'd suggest googling it and studying. Sum it up to say that sometimes you negotiate, sometimes you argue, sometimes you cut your loses, and sometimes you run! Every situation is different. And there is the potential for much bitterness and resentment, but who do those feelings serve, ultimately? You? Them? Just rememeber as Yogananda says, "Never let another steal your peace." No matter what. This is very good advice, I think and it helped me in hindsight, lol, perhaps not so much in the moment, but that is for another lesson for me, I think. But best to let bad karma stay where it originated. If someone is trying to give you the gift of the thief, you needn't accept it.
Lastly, with home improvement. Sometimes I find that the more I do what I think is cleaning and home improving, the more 'flaws' are revealed for me to see. No matter how much I clean and polish and scour it will never ever be perfect. That's the truth, improvement reveals more places to fix and a sort of mental balance takes hold in the mind, trying to find the 'just right' point. Sometimes it is best to just sit in the middle of a spacious sparce room, set aside the scrubber, and breathing in and out. Close the eyes. Open them and see all the judgments of dirt and broken corners, and spider webs and dust. Close eyes breathe in and out, then open and just see it as it is. Let it be as it is. Be as you are.
well actually later...lol. How time flies. It's been many months since I was doing major home improvements. I sitback to write with some 5 months hindsight. Home improvement has many different meanings or includes many different aspects of life and relationships and is a very interesting and fertile ground for studying and reflection.
The story of the monk whose duty it was to sweep the floors, comes to mind. It seems very glaringly obvious when you are cleaning a rental for sale just how the dirt seems to go everywhere no matter what you do. The dirt never goes away, but it is placed somewhere else. Maybe to the next room or to the garbage bag. If you wash the dirt down, then it changes, desolves and becomes a liquid, but it is still there. It does not cease to exist, it just changes. Any feelings I have about that dirt, whether I enjoy cleaning it, feel a sense of accomplishment or burden, or am completely apathetic; well, those are my choices and do not begin from the dirt itself but from me. And so cleaning is a great way to study self.
Dealing with contractors is another way. LOL! This one can be a big challenge. My how there is the struggle for dominance, and you have to fight your own pride when someone you are paying does not do that for which you paid handsomely. So many judgements in such a statement. And so much stubborn 'truth' as well. I know many people who have been disatisfied with work done for them to improve their homesteads. Including me! It is almost a cliche by now. There are many good people out there who will do a just and honest job for you; best to keep their names on a handy list! And to the others? Well, that's a wee bit difficult.
How to keep your sanity and peace of mind, communicate like civil people, and reach an agreement? Hmmm. Can be difficult. For the laws on customer rights, I'd suggest googling it and studying. Sum it up to say that sometimes you negotiate, sometimes you argue, sometimes you cut your loses, and sometimes you run! Every situation is different. And there is the potential for much bitterness and resentment, but who do those feelings serve, ultimately? You? Them? Just rememeber as Yogananda says, "Never let another steal your peace." No matter what. This is very good advice, I think and it helped me in hindsight, lol, perhaps not so much in the moment, but that is for another lesson for me, I think. But best to let bad karma stay where it originated. If someone is trying to give you the gift of the thief, you needn't accept it.
Lastly, with home improvement. Sometimes I find that the more I do what I think is cleaning and home improving, the more 'flaws' are revealed for me to see. No matter how much I clean and polish and scour it will never ever be perfect. That's the truth, improvement reveals more places to fix and a sort of mental balance takes hold in the mind, trying to find the 'just right' point. Sometimes it is best to just sit in the middle of a spacious sparce room, set aside the scrubber, and breathing in and out. Close the eyes. Open them and see all the judgments of dirt and broken corners, and spider webs and dust. Close eyes breathe in and out, then open and just see it as it is. Let it be as it is. Be as you are.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Melodic and Monotone
Healing others or fearing them -- a choice in everyday moments. Absorbing the beauty of the world is a gift from the universe to be taken without flinching -- fear of its passing or forfeiture is the harbinger of the ruse, the ego. And the soul retreats to save itself for another imagined day.
But again I remember, absorbing the beauty is a gift from the universe--a gift always poised there, open and authentic. What is there to fear?
All is well known to a degree and yet so much more floats in the ocean of uncertainty and that word brings fear to so many places but it might best be accompanied, not to stand alone. Rather, it might be uncertainty and calmness or tranquil uncertainty. It is what it is. And how wonderful it is. When floating upon the waters we may not know where we travel though we think we have a raft ' just in case'. Yet, just floating...how tranquil how peaceful the place, the moment. Liquid pillows rolling into shimmering moving bed. Vast and peaceful.
Death is certain -- all else, living , breathing, day-to-day, is uncertain. So how beautiful the day of uncertainty! Love it. Love the gifts of beautiful beings floating in this so-called sea of uncertainty. Oh! How fine this way-- to absorb, to observe, to accept as is. Rain or shine.
I recall a story I have told twice today - once to the taxi driver who was driving me back from a cancelled flight and again to my manicurist. This will be the third telling today. There was a foreign exchange student who had never seen snow. The first fall was the wonderous big hug floating moist snowflakes you can catch on your tongue. Blessed be! A beautiful moment. By the end of March we would laugh and ask her about snow. She would grimace and say, Ah! No more snow!!
What had changed? Some would say boredom appeared. Some would say the newness faded. Others would say judgement entered. Others would ponder her fear of the scarcity of time and her need for experience. Still others would say her fear appeared from experiences with that year's snow storms. Some would sum it up simply by saying knowledge happened. I think on the wisdom in Don Miguel Ruiz's book, "The Voice of Knowledge". How true.
And perhaps the instinct for survival thwarts our bliss. We learn, we judge, we speculate and life reveals its temporality -- its fading spark -- until all things bleed into sameness. The polarity of the unique "Ah!" joy of first experience and the sameness of a lifetime of experiences reveals the key -- almost as a paradox for both hint of a greater truth.
In facing the sameness of everything and the freshness of everything -- life breathes breath over and over but every moment is new no matter how many times judgment dulls it or duty dims its importance. It is unique, authentic. The secret splendor children know and we sometimes forget -- every moment is incredibly new, unique, authentic. And every moment is the same as the next -- is one with its entirety.
Sages, prophets, messiahs give us riddles to pull us closer and split us appart in an instant to be absorbed into the greater universe. Unique and the same. Melodic and monotone.
But again I remember, absorbing the beauty is a gift from the universe--a gift always poised there, open and authentic. What is there to fear?
All is well known to a degree and yet so much more floats in the ocean of uncertainty and that word brings fear to so many places but it might best be accompanied, not to stand alone. Rather, it might be uncertainty and calmness or tranquil uncertainty. It is what it is. And how wonderful it is. When floating upon the waters we may not know where we travel though we think we have a raft ' just in case'. Yet, just floating...how tranquil how peaceful the place, the moment. Liquid pillows rolling into shimmering moving bed. Vast and peaceful.
Death is certain -- all else, living , breathing, day-to-day, is uncertain. So how beautiful the day of uncertainty! Love it. Love the gifts of beautiful beings floating in this so-called sea of uncertainty. Oh! How fine this way-- to absorb, to observe, to accept as is. Rain or shine.
I recall a story I have told twice today - once to the taxi driver who was driving me back from a cancelled flight and again to my manicurist. This will be the third telling today. There was a foreign exchange student who had never seen snow. The first fall was the wonderous big hug floating moist snowflakes you can catch on your tongue. Blessed be! A beautiful moment. By the end of March we would laugh and ask her about snow. She would grimace and say, Ah! No more snow!!
What had changed? Some would say boredom appeared. Some would say the newness faded. Others would say judgement entered. Others would ponder her fear of the scarcity of time and her need for experience. Still others would say her fear appeared from experiences with that year's snow storms. Some would sum it up simply by saying knowledge happened. I think on the wisdom in Don Miguel Ruiz's book, "The Voice of Knowledge". How true.
And perhaps the instinct for survival thwarts our bliss. We learn, we judge, we speculate and life reveals its temporality -- its fading spark -- until all things bleed into sameness. The polarity of the unique "Ah!" joy of first experience and the sameness of a lifetime of experiences reveals the key -- almost as a paradox for both hint of a greater truth.
In facing the sameness of everything and the freshness of everything -- life breathes breath over and over but every moment is new no matter how many times judgment dulls it or duty dims its importance. It is unique, authentic. The secret splendor children know and we sometimes forget -- every moment is incredibly new, unique, authentic. And every moment is the same as the next -- is one with its entirety.
Sages, prophets, messiahs give us riddles to pull us closer and split us appart in an instant to be absorbed into the greater universe. Unique and the same. Melodic and monotone.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Hand Me Downs Insight
I've been thinking a bit about the effects of the environment and memory on the mind. Phylicia Rashad says in a letter to herself at 21 (Omagazine, April 2006), "Everything you do, every thought you have, every word you say creates a memory that you will hold in your body." This is very powerful and shows deep self-reflection.
Those things also create memories in your mind. And also every word or action others have had can also create memories, memories that repeat in your mind. I understand why parents wish to shelter their children from swear words and mean debates, politics and images of violence. Children absorb things like a sponge, it's been said.
At this time in my life I have often thought about those repetitive thoughts that sometimes come to the surface. I wonder, "Good lord, where did that come from? Where did that mean thought first appear?" The fact is we may never know where we first heard an insult or saw a mean action. But we absorbed it and now it repeats.
For many years I had struggled with subduing mean-spirited memories, the impulse to go quickly toward anger, pride, or self-righteous indignation. But I found that the more I tried to stop them, the more clever and glee my ego got at making them resurface, and there I would be again, grasping those uncomfortable thoughts and crying in dismay, "Oh stop this in my head!"
It is amusing, in fact. Over time I have learned that part of the problem is actually the grasping or the judgement of those thoughts. When, in truth, they should not be paid any mind at all. Thicht Naht Hahn speaks of how we seem to poke at the painful places. When we are at the doctor, we are asked what hurts. But we should be thinking on what is all right in our lives. To get perspective.
Whose hand me down was the first insult? Whose hand me down was the first curse of anger? I will never know. But even as those things resurface in the mind, there is a choice to be made. One could reenact them, insult someone, and the viscious cycle continues and is passed on to another. One could grasp the thought and feel guilt and dread that it is there--but there is no progress in this, for the thought will again resurface just the same. Or one could let it pass as water over the body. Without judgement of it, without empowering the ego. Observe it distantly, as if to say, "Oh, there it is, there it goes." And the calm remains. It cannot harm you any longer. It cannot hurt you or others for you have let it go. And you are on to better moments of the day, in the moment. At peace.
Those things also create memories in your mind. And also every word or action others have had can also create memories, memories that repeat in your mind. I understand why parents wish to shelter their children from swear words and mean debates, politics and images of violence. Children absorb things like a sponge, it's been said.
At this time in my life I have often thought about those repetitive thoughts that sometimes come to the surface. I wonder, "Good lord, where did that come from? Where did that mean thought first appear?" The fact is we may never know where we first heard an insult or saw a mean action. But we absorbed it and now it repeats.
For many years I had struggled with subduing mean-spirited memories, the impulse to go quickly toward anger, pride, or self-righteous indignation. But I found that the more I tried to stop them, the more clever and glee my ego got at making them resurface, and there I would be again, grasping those uncomfortable thoughts and crying in dismay, "Oh stop this in my head!"
It is amusing, in fact. Over time I have learned that part of the problem is actually the grasping or the judgement of those thoughts. When, in truth, they should not be paid any mind at all. Thicht Naht Hahn speaks of how we seem to poke at the painful places. When we are at the doctor, we are asked what hurts. But we should be thinking on what is all right in our lives. To get perspective.
Whose hand me down was the first insult? Whose hand me down was the first curse of anger? I will never know. But even as those things resurface in the mind, there is a choice to be made. One could reenact them, insult someone, and the viscious cycle continues and is passed on to another. One could grasp the thought and feel guilt and dread that it is there--but there is no progress in this, for the thought will again resurface just the same. Or one could let it pass as water over the body. Without judgement of it, without empowering the ego. Observe it distantly, as if to say, "Oh, there it is, there it goes." And the calm remains. It cannot harm you any longer. It cannot hurt you or others for you have let it go. And you are on to better moments of the day, in the moment. At peace.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Spooky Cobwebs of the Mind
The mind has been compared to an attic that stores all our memories. Often times we think about attics as dark places, with a shuttered window and dust and mice. If we do not clear the attic on a steady basis, dust can collect and cobwebs will form over the entire length and height of it.
Wandering through the attic of our minds, memories appear as cobwebs. As we pass through them they cling to us, making us uncomfortable. Attaching to our arms, our legs and our hair. Worries of misunderstandings, past thoughts of mistakes, silly things we did at a younger age, or fears about past debts or actions plague us as those cobwebs cling. We wander and cry in dismay, "Oh why did I say that to him that day," or "Oh, what was I THINKING?" or upon seeing some haunt as strange as a spider we utter just plain, "Yuck!". Covered in cobwebs.
In truth, cobwebs are just cobwebs. They are what they are. It is their nature to be sticky. It is our wandering through them that make them cling to us. It is our grasping that gets us covered up in them, these memories. Indeed as much as a cobweb is icky, it is our judgment of it that makes it so, and our memories need not be uncomfortable to us if we set aside our need to make an assessment of them.
Even in our attic we can find that middle path, where the window is unshuttered and brings in sunlight and fresh air; where the cobwebs glisten with mutlicolored opal-essence; where the dust glitters like falling stars into our open palms. Or where the attic is completely empty and spacious. Vast and free.
Wandering through the attic of our minds, memories appear as cobwebs. As we pass through them they cling to us, making us uncomfortable. Attaching to our arms, our legs and our hair. Worries of misunderstandings, past thoughts of mistakes, silly things we did at a younger age, or fears about past debts or actions plague us as those cobwebs cling. We wander and cry in dismay, "Oh why did I say that to him that day," or "Oh, what was I THINKING?" or upon seeing some haunt as strange as a spider we utter just plain, "Yuck!". Covered in cobwebs.
In truth, cobwebs are just cobwebs. They are what they are. It is their nature to be sticky. It is our wandering through them that make them cling to us. It is our grasping that gets us covered up in them, these memories. Indeed as much as a cobweb is icky, it is our judgment of it that makes it so, and our memories need not be uncomfortable to us if we set aside our need to make an assessment of them.
Even in our attic we can find that middle path, where the window is unshuttered and brings in sunlight and fresh air; where the cobwebs glisten with mutlicolored opal-essence; where the dust glitters like falling stars into our open palms. Or where the attic is completely empty and spacious. Vast and free.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
In the Middle of Nothing
I've observed that one way to peace is to let judgement fall away. In my life I've read many books. Their advice, instructions or suggestions have come together recently in a manner that I might describe as offering keys. Keys that unlock pieces to nothing. And when it happens, I hover there in peace.
I am a novice to this and, amazed, I observe how quickly it happens now. Not for long but it happens. I'm a newcomer still after twenty plus years of reading and listening and moving in it -- and I might add that my years are nearing the double of twenty. I don't know much. I don't have all the answers. I am limited. Ha ha! And even my need to write down such things and define who I am or am not reveals how I yet cling in everyday life to judgements. And see how language and vocabulary are what they are!? Foolishness to even write down the little I know or perhaps don't know. Truly it changes as soon as a name is put to it and it is lost to be found again when words fall away.
That impulse to define, oh, how quick it is! And already I am two steps behind myself. The ego wants to know it all and own it and, as Osho says, the mind is clever. The ego will grab it and cry, "Aha! How wonderful this is. How lovely. What a prize, what bliss. Look at me observing what I am doing right now." And it falls away. And the ego will create rituals to find it again, thinking, "Well, I did this, and then I did that, and I think it was easier when I was walking by a lake. Oh, I must find a tree for the moment to come again!" And at that point, so far away from the center, one might as well go home and watch tv.
But when the ego is quiet, the keys come together and unlock a little bit of nothing. Hovering in the middle. Poised. Hovering. Between breaths. Between discernments. Between extremes. Between impulses toward judgement and paths to anger or joy. I fall away.
I am a novice to this and, amazed, I observe how quickly it happens now. Not for long but it happens. I'm a newcomer still after twenty plus years of reading and listening and moving in it -- and I might add that my years are nearing the double of twenty. I don't know much. I don't have all the answers. I am limited. Ha ha! And even my need to write down such things and define who I am or am not reveals how I yet cling in everyday life to judgements. And see how language and vocabulary are what they are!? Foolishness to even write down the little I know or perhaps don't know. Truly it changes as soon as a name is put to it and it is lost to be found again when words fall away.
That impulse to define, oh, how quick it is! And already I am two steps behind myself. The ego wants to know it all and own it and, as Osho says, the mind is clever. The ego will grab it and cry, "Aha! How wonderful this is. How lovely. What a prize, what bliss. Look at me observing what I am doing right now." And it falls away. And the ego will create rituals to find it again, thinking, "Well, I did this, and then I did that, and I think it was easier when I was walking by a lake. Oh, I must find a tree for the moment to come again!" And at that point, so far away from the center, one might as well go home and watch tv.
But when the ego is quiet, the keys come together and unlock a little bit of nothing. Hovering in the middle. Poised. Hovering. Between breaths. Between discernments. Between extremes. Between impulses toward judgement and paths to anger or joy. I fall away.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Samsara and My Dog
Throughout the day, I watch my dog. I observe him as he goes through his motions. When he wants outside, I let him out. When he is hungry, I feed him. When he needs a scrtach, I itch his back and under his cute, floppy ears. I throw his ball and give him lots of love.
Our walks include two phases. The first part of the walk I let him run on the leash and do "his thing" sniffing and marking and rolling in the grass. The second part is his training. I fasten his work backpack around him and give him orders like heel and sit. After his good work, I reward him with a dip in the pool. A lab, he loves these so much! And I teach him tricks and goof around.
Funny things I observe. He loves the pool but whimpers when he must stay outside because he is wet. He loves the walk but sighs heavily when it is done and he is tired. He loves his food but then wants mine. He loves even more his treats but gives me puppydog eyes when I do not have another. I could throw the ball to him for an hour but he would beg an hour more, with chin on my thigh or propped under his front paws, his eyes imploring me. Just one more.
An opportunity for me he provides for I am a "fixer" and want to solve his sadness. Yet, as I've spent my days with him, I've come to realize that whatever I give him, he shall want more or the opposite. If he is out, he wants in. If I am upstairs, he wants me downstairs, and such. No matter the moment he will unwittingly find his way to some sort of inner misery. I watch the progress from happiness to discontent. He finds samsara effortlessly.
Our walks include two phases. The first part of the walk I let him run on the leash and do "his thing" sniffing and marking and rolling in the grass. The second part is his training. I fasten his work backpack around him and give him orders like heel and sit. After his good work, I reward him with a dip in the pool. A lab, he loves these so much! And I teach him tricks and goof around.
Funny things I observe. He loves the pool but whimpers when he must stay outside because he is wet. He loves the walk but sighs heavily when it is done and he is tired. He loves his food but then wants mine. He loves even more his treats but gives me puppydog eyes when I do not have another. I could throw the ball to him for an hour but he would beg an hour more, with chin on my thigh or propped under his front paws, his eyes imploring me. Just one more.
An opportunity for me he provides for I am a "fixer" and want to solve his sadness. Yet, as I've spent my days with him, I've come to realize that whatever I give him, he shall want more or the opposite. If he is out, he wants in. If I am upstairs, he wants me downstairs, and such. No matter the moment he will unwittingly find his way to some sort of inner misery. I watch the progress from happiness to discontent. He finds samsara effortlessly.
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