Know that wisdom is found in many places … SOFTEN THE GROUND OF YOUR BEING.
This is one of the tools of the Makua O'o and it means something new to me today, this now. Often without knowing how my thoughts wear grooves in my brain and my habits, I live from a maze of thoughts that harden around me. Newly into this Gupta training yesterday was a groove too well worn: habit lived. I write to soften the ground of my being (forgiveness) and let the habit ease a bit. TRYING too hard to stop, stop, stop the tangles tighten and that's the truth. Not much room for trust, I get through, pray, cry, do all my former 'fixes' and finally fall to sleep and the dreams are filled with the former 'fixes' and in the morning Pete comes to kiss me awake. My eyes are puffy from the neuro-transmitters on high and the whatevers on the left and right path scratching paths between the deep grooves and the embankments where the new thoughts slowly make their mark.
Soften the ground, after the day of the hornet's sting. That would be trust. Let go. That would be God's work.
This is one of the tools of the Makua O'o and it means something new to me today, this now. Often without knowing how my thoughts wear grooves in my brain and my habits, I live from a maze of thoughts that harden around me. Newly into this Gupta training yesterday was a groove too well worn: habit lived. I write to soften the ground of my being (forgiveness) and let the habit ease a bit. TRYING too hard to stop, stop, stop the tangles tighten and that's the truth. Not much room for trust, I get through, pray, cry, do all my former 'fixes' and finally fall to sleep and the dreams are filled with the former 'fixes' and in the morning Pete comes to kiss me awake. My eyes are puffy from the neuro-transmitters on high and the whatevers on the left and right path scratching paths between the deep grooves and the embankments where the new thoughts slowly make their mark.
Soften the ground, after the day of the hornet's sting. That would be trust. Let go. That would be God's work.
From the writing piece called "Madrona" at Prime the Pump
"...Baby and mother rooted and the years of being a Northwest family feathered the earth beneath me. I think the ground broke in bits in places that would remember me and him when I wasn't looking..."
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