Portable Peace

I was sitting out on that lovely back porch yesterday morning, meditating on God (or trying to - damn bloody monkey mind, just drives me damn mad), and thinking about how I didn't want to leave, but that I didn't want to be grabbing onto that place and time either. In my new state as a Zen Universalist Christian :) I am trying to be non-grabbing, accepting of whatever comes along, non-resistant. I am finding that everything flows better when I do this, seeing a great wad of my distress at any one time lies in the energy I'm expending trying to not feel whatever it is I'm feeling. Weird.

But this morning I'm feeling like I don't want to be here, I want to be back there. I don't want to have to go out today, even though I am catching up with my cousin from interstate and it will be luvverly to see her and her kids and I will have a good time but ... yeah. (I think I need some time by myself. I have been with other flesh-and-blood humans for four days and it's time for some solitude. Later).

Last night when we drove back into Melbourne I translated nicely. In the past, driving back into the city has been so jarring that on more than one occasion I have had to hold back tears, feeling like a silly big baby. But it just smells and it's ugly, that's all!!

But this morning, I would much rather be in that cottage with its sensual bits in every corner, and its life, and its TS Elliott book of poetry (I read Four Quartets in its entirety again over the weekend - noice!) But I'm not there; I'm here. I don't want to waste this day looking inward wishing it was yesterday. If I do, I might miss something good happening today. And I will miss God, who doesn't seem to be much interested in inhabiting any of my daydreams about yesterday, last month, or next month. Apparently tomorrow has cares of its own and this day has enough stuff in it to keep me satisfied, if only I would slow down enough to see.

I know this. But I've forgotten it this morning. But I think the thing is, it's not a place or particular things I am wanting (although that oak tree ... well, you know about me and trees). All of those things are lovely, but their peace is still accessible to me, because ultimately that peace is about God. And sometimes (often/occasionally/constantly/rarely - strike out whichever is applicable) I forget all over again that he is enough, that he is even better than the things. He made the things.

Today. Today is enough. But still ... yesterday smelled so much better.