just past midnight + $3

it is just past midnight and finally cool enough to feel the comfort of summer-time goose bumps. fierce has finally moved inside, i assume because the house has cooled enough for her black-furred body to handle the temperature. i don't remember it being this warm and dry here this early...but when it comes to weather i tend to lump entire months into the rain gear or the sun gear category for the bike or the farm, and that's hardly scientific. i am also not complaining. i am happy to have multiple tan lines and peeling skin on my pink-ish nose on the last day of may.

at least the summer is here to make one thing feel certain. the rest of me is in the juggle, the quiet, the anxious of the not-here, not-there of moving at the end of summer. the close of yoga school, the not knowing how long my job will continue, finding the sweet joy in dear friendships without allowing the fear of loss to creep in, appreciation of the huge back yard, collecting chicken feathers and eggs. to exist with a hightened awareness of impermenence: to embrace without clinging, to appreciate without grasping. but really...isn't that all that life is anyway, i just feel it in an exagerated sense because i am going to make a big geographical transition? striking impermanence or evolutionary change, nothing stays the same forever and this is an excellent reminder to live with that notion. my practice: stay with the longing to be present: sitting on the plywood deck with a cup of tea watching the dogs watch the chickens who watch for worms. soaking in the sun and the moment and the knowing that these glorious portland moments are not permanent. that these moments are not because of portland, but because this is just the space i get to be in now. that all of this can be packed into my snail shell heart and will follow me wherever i walk. to have the hope and open heart that whatever comes next offers the same promise, just different packaging (and a much small backyard...sans chickens, really...i'm not attached...i swear).

i am taking baby steps in the packing process. that way the transition of all my stuff (mainly kitchen equiptment, art supplies, clothes and outdoor gear [probably in that order by volume]) into boxes can be about organization and remembering and cleaning out (purging!) and not hurried dumping just to get it all out of dodge on time. i have piles of books for powells, clothes that will get rejected from buffalo exchange, a goodwill bag and borrowed items to return to friends. today i bought $3 worth of ziplock bags to organize sewing and craft supplies. there is something so refreshing about combing through everything i own and asking, "do i need this?" which then turns into "what does this mean to me?"and possibly, "when will i ever need powdered graphite lock lubricant?". how refreshing to head off knowing that i won't be taking anything i don't need, and i don't just mean the stuff i get to unpack and put on a shelf. the things i need surprise me: a journalist's notebook with my nana's handwriting on the first page, cut out horoscopes and fortune cookie fortunes, fabric scraps, chandelier crystals, twelve different pairs of scissors, ceramic tiles, two white-bound copies of the catcher in the rye, rusted paperclips, a heart full of love for all the intangibles i am blessed to be surrounded by here (read: dear friends, teachers, yoga studio, landscape, agriculture, lifestyle). a heart that is full.

purnamadah purnamidam purnaat purnamudachyate purnasya purnaamadaya purnameva vashishyate.