Monday, 21 January 2013
Love set in stone
On a recent camping trip to the country, I made it my mission to find a little rock shaped liked a heart.
I got the idea from one of my favourite blogs, Farmgirl Fare. Farmgirl Susan owns a remote farm in Missouri and documents the daily happenings involving the animals and work on her property. She also is a passionate cook and shares some really great recipes. While working around the property she keeps an eye out for heart-shaped rocks.
I have been searching for my own version for months.
I must confess I didn't find this little beauty above, a junior member of the family did.
She spotted it near our campsite after I had left for home.
It found its way to me today.
Thanks little one, I'll keep it forever.
It seems a good heart is hard, but not impossible, to find.
Sunday, 13 January 2013
This time it's personal
I have been wanting to read these two books for a while and I got the chance over Christmas. I read Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat Pray Love" first, then Judith Lucy's "Drink Smoke Pass Out".
I felt as if I was the only person in the world who hadn't read "Eat Pray Love", what with all the hoo-ha about its phenomenal success. Actually, I suspect a large proportion of Gilbert's critics on the net have barely managed to read the cover of her book.
Anything that is a success these days attracts swift criticism — positive and negative.
Opinions on any subject imaginable are dumped on the internet every second. It's like unprocessed landfill. If you want to wade through it you have to hold your nose, trawl through the rubbish and not be afraid to discard or pick up things that catch your eye.
Books, like music, attract such ardent lovers and haters.
It's personal, you see — like these two books.
And this is my opinion: I loved both of them.
Here are two people, and they just happen to be women, who are describing what it is like to embark on a spiritual journey. A lot of people are quick to deride and dismiss anything that is called a "journey", but that is exactly what it is. It's a good word and an accurate description of what it feels like when you are exploring the great unknown that's both inside and beyond you.
Some have no interest in going down that path, some do. Get over it.
It's personal.
Critics can bang on all they like about what they consider to be privileged women embarking on a "self-indulgent trip of self-discovery". The knives really come out when these authors happen to make money out of it. There's nothing like money to get the haters bent out of shape.
Spiritual journeys are universal and come in many forms. It doesn't matter if you live in the "first world" (whatever that is) or the second, third or fourth world. If you are on that trip, you're on it. You don't need a passport, don't need money ... you already hold the ticket.
I've been travelling a spiritual path for years. I've probably been on it all my life. It's just something I do. I don't discuss it unless someone asks me about it, or if I am talking with someone who is going through a similar experience.
It's funny when certain people try to analyse or "understand" what you are doing (like that kooky chakra balancing, crazy kinesiology or meditation ... all clearly the work of snake-oil salesmen).
It seems as if they need you to justify why you are doing it.
I tell them to not concern themselves with my business and that it's just "The Vibe" (wise words from Guru Dennis Denuto).
I'm off to Keep Calm and Carry On.
Peace and love.
Sunday, 6 January 2013
Indiana Jones never wore lycra
Here's a job option: archaeology.
But, besides years of study, it seems there is a new "fitness" component.
Actually, I might just stick to marathon running.
*Random magazine courtesy of my favourite op-shop
Friday, 4 January 2013
Life: streaming now in real-time
I spent New Year's Day up the creek.
It was an odd choice considering I ended 2012 up Unemployment Creek without a paddle.
As I cooled my heels in Craven Creek, at the foot of Barrington Tops NSW, I realised paddles were over-rated.
I was content to sit and watch the driftwood, leaves, berries and flowers flow by to who knows where.
The butterflies still led a merry dance, a bossy male fairy wren kept his harem in check on the bank opposite, the flies carried on as usual and a few crimson rosellas dropped in for a drink and a chat.
But my feet, the same ones that brought me here, were still ... as were my heart and head.
It's almost time to get going. I'm ready to explore what's around the bend.
But this time I'll have a spring in my step.
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