here's one I saw:
a tiniest bird, not but 2 inches from beak to tail and perched a meter from where I was passing, was caroling with all its soul. I stopped, awed into silence. This fruffy little tuft of a guy sang and chirruped like a lark or a wren and s/he put out sound that would have carried to the back of a large auditorium. It was utterly glorious.
Volume
6 litres of saliva a day
is approximately what your salivary glands produce.
Sometimes it seems the same volume of thoughts flood my brain or even 6 litres of words in so many conversations a day
and I lay on my bed, spent, spinning.
I am learning, as I walk along the sidewalk pavers and under trees spilling from fenced front English gardens, to voluntarily relax my involuntarily tensed mental muscles that are fervently driven to 'make sense' of the world..to say,
hey,
let's not wind up tight trying to work out imponderables, like wringing out a towel that's still wet but just can't be wrung any tighter- it's no help!
let's gawk a little longer at birds. let me put my whole self into this moment of gratefulness- not just a mental calculation of thanks or compartmentalized pleasure- but all. here. now. that's what this heart was made for.
In the past 11 months, I must say, a lot of water has spilled over the dam and I've not fully realized or absorbed the experience yet. This forward rushing current- the brain wrung tight over language acquisition, cultural bridging, relationships everywhere- has me still in that same mode: looking forward, quickly back and then to the action-filled present.
But, I have the space in my life for this lesson now. This time will surely pass into another season less spacious. So I welcome this walking lesson. The tilt-back of stance, the round-me gaze, my ear cocked...I hope with all my heart the lesson sticks.
I think for me, this may be part of the 'renewing of your minds' that Paul urged us followers to be open to?
is approximately what your salivary glands produce.
Sometimes it seems the same volume of thoughts flood my brain or even 6 litres of words in so many conversations a day
and I lay on my bed, spent, spinning.
I am learning, as I walk along the sidewalk pavers and under trees spilling from fenced front English gardens, to voluntarily relax my involuntarily tensed mental muscles that are fervently driven to 'make sense' of the world..to say,
hey,
let's not wind up tight trying to work out imponderables, like wringing out a towel that's still wet but just can't be wrung any tighter- it's no help!
let's gawk a little longer at birds. let me put my whole self into this moment of gratefulness- not just a mental calculation of thanks or compartmentalized pleasure- but all. here. now. that's what this heart was made for.
In the past 11 months, I must say, a lot of water has spilled over the dam and I've not fully realized or absorbed the experience yet. This forward rushing current- the brain wrung tight over language acquisition, cultural bridging, relationships everywhere- has me still in that same mode: looking forward, quickly back and then to the action-filled present.
But, I have the space in my life for this lesson now. This time will surely pass into another season less spacious. So I welcome this walking lesson. The tilt-back of stance, the round-me gaze, my ear cocked...I hope with all my heart the lesson sticks.
I think for me, this may be part of the 'renewing of your minds' that Paul urged us followers to be open to?
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