Have you ever wondered what you do if you weren’t doing what you’re doing? It’s an interesting puzzle, to believe that there is something better or different that could be, should be done. The thought seems to pop up out of the blue without any warning and then slides back into the depths before I can give it a good look.
Today that thought arose as I was working in the yard, the ginormous yard, 5 acres to be more specific, of which gratefully only one acre is house and yard that requires woman handling. It’s not that I don’t enjoy the work. I have a riding lawnmower and a powerful but heavy electric weed whacker, not to mention two hands that seem to fit fairly well these days behind a wheelbarrow, a shovel, or any other of the many implements.
After a couple years of health issues that made caring for the land something that didn’t happen as often as it needed, or with quite the loving attention, I am back to it. I am the land’s caretaker. The vortex has been pretty definite about that. Every time I considered selling something happens to quash the thought and make me stay. The land cares for me, and evidently, I it.
That’s probably hard to understand if you aren’t in touch with the earth. Before I moved here, I wouldn’t have believed it possible, that the earth could speak, could make its wishes known. Sailing the West Coast from Canada to Mexico, I was enamored of the waters, the big ocean and its amazing creatures, so I guess this isn’t very different, just a different element in play.
At the time, while ensconced in the cat bird seat at Phantasm’s stern or laying on the bow, my finger tips skipping in the water, I didn’t realize I was having a love affair with the Earth. I was simply alive. Maybe there isn’t any difference. It seems not. Just a little tweak in how I perceive and define it.
It’s all perception. One moment I can think, wow! Enough! I need to sell this place … and the next, I remember, oh yeah, this is home and being here feels right. What shifts? Nothing at all.
What would I do if I wasn’t doing this? I have no idea. I can project ideas, but that’s just mental masturbation. I never know what I’ll be doing in the next moment, or even whether I will still be in form. How could I? That would be impossible.
I used to believe that I could know, that I could figure it out, but where’s the fun in that? I prefer riding the see-saw, thinking I know and finding out I don’t or just riding the wind and letting life blow me where it will, a sailor of infinite aliveness.
Tomorrow I may put a for sale sign in the yard … or not. I don’t think that’s going to happen, or if I do that anything will come of it, but who knows? Maybe tomorrow will be a deepening love affair sitting next to the vortex, letting it spin its magical tales.
Besides … what would I do without this glorious bit of land? Maybe this old hermit would have to shake off the raiment of asceticism and step out into the world … yikes! … yippee! … ki-yay!
As with everything in life … guess I’ll have to wait and see … but I think I’ll enjoy the ride be it befuddlement, the momentum to put up the sails, or the simplicity of staying put.
There is no appropriate bio for Amaya Gayle. She doesn’t exist other than as an expression of Consciousness Itself. Talking about her in biographical terms is a disservice to the truth and to anyone who might be led to believe in such nonsense. None of us exist, not in the way we think. Ideas spring into words. Words flow onto paper and yet no one writes them. They simply appear fully formed. Looking at her you would swear this is a lie. She’s there after all, but honestly, she’s not. Bios normally wax on about accomplishments and beliefs, happenings in time and space. She has never accomplished anything, has no beliefs and like you was never born and will never die. Engage with Amaya at your own risk.
