And that moment
like a leaf on a stream
unaware of the place behind that stone
where the water suddenly speeds up.
Like falling, gently and inevitably,
on a cloud.
It’s been a while since I started a “formal” practice of Mindfulness. I remember those first weeks, those first meditations, as a time of awake exploration and mostly, well, thrill. Even in the midst of a stressful life and little time, I don’t recall feeling particularly sleepy while, for instance, going through a body scan, that very tough test for our alertedness. But that was soon to change. Read more
After a convolutedly wonderful, if unfinished and rather exhausting, walk from one corner of Dartmoor to the other, and quite a number of weeks spent immersed in an amazing garden, in grounding myself and finding a path forward, we found out that the straight way between Leewood and High Heathercombe is actually quite beautiful and much easier. Especially since a bus runs from Yelverton–a mere half hour walk away–to Postbridge, shortening the way to roughly half. That still leaves around three hours of walking through moors and forests. The overall trip only takes about half a day, so it has already happened twice in a bit more than a fortnight.
When does a dream start? Do we need to be asleep, far away from our life? Or at least wishing to be so? Do we need to float in that space, akin to limbo, where we melt into our surroundings, eyes glassy and absent, experiencing some unmade future?
How do we become aware that our life needs a profound change? I guess for some it is a lightning moment, a flash of recognition, a sudden vision. Perhaps fueled by dramatic circumstances, such as the birth or the death of a loved one, being witness of a striking event, a tragedy or a moment of extreme joy. Or so we are often told…
My choice of lifestyle is often associated with freedom. I can supposedly freely move around, have no ties to any particular place, no long-term commitments, no debts, no attachments… Although nothing of the above is entirely true or entirely false, one thing is certain: a homeless person gets to think and talk about freedom a lot.
A couple of months ago a dear friend wrote in a letter about all the material possesions I had shed—many of which he kindly took the challenge of further distributing. He wrote that “freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose“, promptly asking himself whether that is actually true. In a sense, that may be the only real freedom, at least the way we define it in our culture. And thus we probably only achieve it seconds before we die. Because, don’t we, until then, always have at least something left to lose? Read more