I read of the roots of Seamus Heaney, of how his roots are embraced in his poems, and think back to mine. Facebook is constantly asking me where I grew up and I have no definable answer to that. We moved a great deal, so where are my roots? Perhaps, the Midwest fits best, though I lived two years in Florida and turned 13 in San Diego. My roots feel deeper than state, or even country. I've always felt a strong affinity for the East, as well as the West. I have roots in Germany, England, Norway, and Scotland, and yet those roots are in the past, or are they?
Ever since the retreat, I feel in a bit of a mist, a clear mist, a land of vivid dreams, and concrete grounding. I sit a great deal, meditate, rest. I seem to be absorbing, or maybe it is receiving. That was my intention on the retreat, to receive, and I feel each interaction differently these days. I am aware of those with whom I interact, whether walking, at the grocery store, or waiting at the vet.
I took my beloved cat Bella to the vet yesterday. I learned that the problem is that fleas are now resistant to Frontline and Advantage, and so he used something new on her, Vectra, and that is working, and she is sleeping, sleeping, sleeping. I cover her with a blanket and watch her sleep, feel her rest, renew, heal.
He mentioned that fleas and mosquitoes don't like B vitamins, so if you are going out in the woods, take some B vitamins beforehand and the mosquitoes may leave you alone. I decided to find some B vitamins for Bella so entered a "cat spa" that I have made fun of. Water flowed from fountains on the wall, and soft music played. I was soothed just standing there. They don't yet stock cat supplemental vitamins, but just being in the store allowed me to feel how we all need the touch of water, silence, peace. Bella will not go to a spa. Her spa is here, but, oh, we all need to pause and refresh.
I just finished a book I loved: The Dog Stars by Peter Heller. If you loved The Road, you will love this book. This one is less harsh, and is a great deal about being, about savoring nature, and how there really is nothing to equal the appreciation of being with your work, the sky, the earth, your self.
I believe it was in Bali that I first tasted passionfruit. It is most odd looking, something one does not, at first, dip enthusiastically into, and why would I equate it with suffering? Why does it come up now?
I think that for some the drive for change is so strong, so necessary to their being, that they suffer beatings and jail to bring us to a place where we can have a Black president, and we can honor all those who were subservient to pave the way, and see all people as they should be seen and honored. Passion may lead people to and through horrible pain, and yet, there is enthusiasm in the need. I look up the definition of enthusiasm. It comes from "possession by a god, having a god within".
Those who fought for freedom were "possessed by a god". They "had a god within", and they suffered for it.
I sit today thinking about passion. Where is my spoon to dip and eat both jellied mass and seeds, to know the root of food not-native to where I was born, and yet rich in what I need to learn and grow? Where do I taste and link my passage to yours? How do I accept that there are people more courageous than I, more outwardly active, and yet, be comfortable in my place, my seemingly accepted pattern of holding, as much as is possible, a centered place?