Itchy Fingers!

So, it seems my fingers are itching to write something; no particular place to go but a strong desire to express myself from my heart and my fingers are listening, even when I am not!

“Why?”, I hear you say. No reason, just a feeling. Feelings have no reasons. They just are. If only we could live in the feelings of what is and just be. How simple and peaceful that would be. No place to get to, no past to lament or future to long for, just now: the beautiful ever-changing patterns on the clouds at dawn as the sun rises and bring new hues on subtle puffs of white to a myriad variations pink, grey and blue, of wondrous art hewn on the fleeting art of the skies.

As I wonder around in this state of awareness I see new buds and shoots rise amid dying and dead branches and leaves, the whole cycle of life before my very eyes in its own glory, without associated fear that usually accompanies the cycle in humans, so often unaware of their part in nature for all it is.

Next, a sound: the shrill whistling of a small group tropical birds as they call to each other and play as the day breaks and beyond, providing a regular chorus that reminds me not only of their presence and their beautiful song but also the immense beauty all around me in my simple tropical paradise.

Then later in the day as heavier clouds form, the forbidding dark grey tones that promise a heavy downfall are both cause for seeking protection but also for delight as the anticipation grows and shortly before the first drops come, a sudden rush of wind to stir things up and beckon the oncoming rains. Then, in a flash, there it comes, pouring down so fast it fills large tubs in minutes and washes away much of the accumulated detritus since the last storm and I watch as the torrential rains bring freshness to all that surrounds me and invigorates me with its electric energy, its passionate embrace of the earth an act of natural love.

By my very presence in being, I see this and not the sourness of grey skies or the ugliness of dead plants. I see life in all its beauty and I am content.

By way of gift, my fingers bring me beyond the many minor woes of my day to a state of gratitude and joy, the source of the woes, a creation of a busy mind looking at what it thinks should be rather than what is, soon swept aside.