I gave my mind so many exciting things to play with today, but now it's really getting annoying. My mind is like a dog. Tirelessly begging for me to throw the bone again. And again. Slimy spit everywhere and the persistent smell of wet fur. I wonder what's natural about my mind. How does a natural mind look like? Are we anomalies on earth's rugged face, or have we just left our dogs unwatched for too long?
The human condition never stops puzzling me. When did it start? How did it go so wrong? Or is it actually right? I imagine myself sitting with a checklist in heaven, waiting for my turn to get born. What kind of resistance do I want to experience in this life? Pollen allergy, check. Money allergy, check. Wet-annoying-dog-mind, check.
There are moments where I don't mind my mind. Where I don't try to control it. Do you like being controlled? I certainly don't. I like lots of attention and people and movement and action. And then I like being ignored. One thing not without the other. My mind probably feels the same. Only it is so used to its junkie-life on main street. Coming to age, it was practically force-fed attention. The equivalent to crack, my mind was raised on an endless stream of half digested information mostly presented as vital to get even a small shot at a worthy life. Eat or crumble.
So here I am. Slimy, smelly, insistent and a little melodramatic. On my way to bed. My body and my soul want a little attention, too. Lay down now, dog. Sure I'll walk with you tomorrow. But, beware, there will be no bones.
This is a calling to slow down and listen. To take a deep breath and explore our personal connection with Mother Earth. The feminine and masculine, the beautiful and dirty, the real, the messy, the sacred. Once it was natural. Today it feels crucial.
For the next 100 Days I will write a book to the Earth. For the Earth. With the Earth. The book, and the journey, is also to you. For you. And with you. Together, we are everything.
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(Photo: Flickr/CC/John Haslam)