Toss “Being in the Moment” and Become Alive – Let Life Flow


The Story Comes Alive

And so this is New Years….. And look what we’ll do. Don’t look back. The memory holds a fuzzy imprint of happenings. Instead let the story come alive. From a frozen in time statue to a movement in the moment.

Oh, aren’t the rest of you tired of “the moment ” “be in the moment” moments. We’ve always been in the moment, some more so than others and some totally lost in the moment and some stuck in the moment.

This “moment” thing has become a part of pop psychology. If you look closely, the moment is an emphasis of most psychological theories, just another perspective, juicier words, reinvention of the wheel. Even while thinking about the past, recalling of the past, psychoanalyzing the past, one is still in the moment, the moment of thinking about the past moments. “Everyone be in the moment”, the moment of being stuck in a yoga pose, stuck in or on or inside oneself and not a part of being in life.

Take “being in the moment” and file it away with all the still life paintings and instead participate in life. Instead, be with life, a part of life, a superencounterer, a serendipiter, a divergener. Go gather some string for Pete’s sake! Let your story begin and come to life.

via Safe Search.

Meteors and Foggy Skies

My Writings Photography

So the Geminid meteor shower is passing. I saw one fireball then a blanket of cloud and fog obscured the showers from above. So until another year I’ll wait with a longing to feel  the deep freeze with my head up and eyes cast to the heavens.

For now I’ll go for a forest shower.

I’ll stand quiet and still and I’ll listen to the forest.

To the sounds of century-old trees as they wave their boughs in a dance only they can dance with their flamenco like skirts ruffling in the wind. I’ll listen to the creeks as they rush to the ponds to the rivers to the sea.

And I’ll shiver as a breeze skates across my arms in pursuit of a nearby cluster of ferns teasing delicate tendrils until they shimmer with delight.

An owl may hoot, A crow may caw, a squirrel may scuttle as eagles whistle high pitches from  the skies.

Then silence will sit beside me, witch’s beard will dangle around me as I settle on an old fallen log with my feet resting on a carpet of moist emerald green moss in the hollow of the forest.

Listening to the silence.

The shower of the forest.