What the guide Saturday night was most entranced with was the shoulder blades of the mountain lion. He kept repeating how one shoulder blade rises, and then, the other. I can't stop thinking about my shoulder blades since then, and I find myself walking raising one and bringing it forward and then the other. It really is fun to prance along imagining yourself as a mountain lion with a territory of seventy miles. Try it. Your hips will rejoice.
Today I was sitting on a bench in Sausalito watching children at sailing camp and remembering when each of my sons participated. A seal would pop up periodically watching and seemingly trying to add an extra buoy to the children's task of tacking their tiny sabots with very little wind. A woman near me was complaining, complaining loudly into her cell phone about how her life was not what it should be. I don't know what her life is, but I do know she was in a beautiful spot on a sunny day with children and a seal and maybe for a moment, silence could have been her wings and cape.
I think of "right speech".
1. Is what I am about to say "true"? Of course we might ask, "What is true?" We could have quite a discussion on that, but in this moment, I'm trying to cut down the use of words and settle into a vibratory pause and welcoming peace.
2. Is it necessary?
3. Is it kind?
4. Is this the right time to say it?
On Tuesday I went with a friend to honor her father's brother who committed suicide in 1939. He was 16. We left flowers and his photo at 500 Summit. I felt as though there was no life and death, as though time had not passed, and no young man had been so sad and depressed. It was so beautiful there, so much green and a view of the bay and a bridge. My intention, since then, has been to "be peace" as much as I can. If someone around me is complaining, perhaps I can simply hear it like rocks allowing the stream to sing.
May we each find and nourish peace, in ourselves, in the world, as much as we can.
