Observe. Accept. Those are the two words I gleaned from my years as a Buddhist.
Observe myself. Ah, hah. Therein lies the challenge. I see the flaw of mirror, the patterns backward, playing my Fool with false promises.
I know better than to follow the cow trail and slap down some highfalutin resolutions that will take me right into the bog of failure.
Instead, I consider carefully my intentions. Dare I commit (yes, please note the difference between “intend” and “commit”), to blog more. (Oh, heavens, I have a vast array of untended blogs out there mumbling on their own. I only maintain two.) And if I do blog more, what time will shift on the scale of my day? How much of it will fall into the well of self indulgence?
Write more poetry? I open my heart to the Muse but I cannot force her. Whenever she comes, I drink her tea and take rapid notes, losing sometimes the very essence of some glimmering wisdom. To that, there is not intention or commitment or resolution. To the Muse, I listen as I must breathe to live.
Finish my novel. Yes. Ever onward my character takes me on her unexpected journey. I’d say we’re about 85,000 words at present. Time to wrap it up, eh? Not until she has her say. Then will come the hard work of revision, of endless re-writes. I get smarter with each writing but always there is work to be done. This novel writing is essential, walks parallel to poetry, will take me away from a conversation, wlll insist I make a note while driving, knocks on my dreamtime. This is not resolution or even intention. This is essential.
So, I consider a blank calendar, a whole year of possibility ahead. However, there are very few blank days already in January. I celebrate the connection with you and the opportunities that will unravel this year.
Bright blessings in all ways to your greatest and highest good.
Khepera pushs up the Sun this morning,
Rolls it right over Stewart Mountain,
Light blasts into the new year.