That big bright thing we swing by every day has been visible for two days now. After three weeks occluded by frozen rain clouds, it has invited me once again to the wonderful, warm, brilliant out of doors. Upon finishing an overdue turning of the compost I revisited my little meditation spot in the greenhouse shed. After straightening out the mess made by being eight inches under water since I last visited, I resumed my seat on a partial bag of spaghnum moss compressed into the shape of my seat and gazed out into the miniature infinity of my garden and the wilderness beyond. While seeing all the vegetables thriving from the treatment of the season I could feel the static electricity I had stored up while cooped up in the heated stagnancy of my sheltering RV cave transform into part of the hum of bodily harmony, and once again my mind drifted into the realm of inspiration. The last three posts were either pictures of drenched or frozen gardens or old news because I had no inspiration relevant to other than my own life, but this garden visit brought me to the keyboard like a magnet with something you might like to read. Who knows? I like the idea of putting it out there.
When I began this blog last June I intended it to be a place where I could communicate those inspirations when they were about subjects relevant to what seems to be the common theme upon which humankind is a myriad variations. From cosmology to biology to genetics to metaphysics. Being a relative loner my ponderings never dwelt long on sociology until accepting membership in a leftist blog. Zap! In order to participate I had to seriously consider the problems perpetuated by people who can’t mind their own business, little imperialists every one. Since that was just the thing that formulated my preference for solitude, facing it head on as if there were something about the procrastinating babbledebate society seems to me to be that I could seriously believe was a beneficial contribution to it, seems also to be impossible. There seems to be a log jam in the river of evolution and only the self reliant may skip over the logs to the flow beyond. Governments cannot solve what reliance on them is the cause of. All this is to say that my adventure in the sea of political debate found it so salty I couldn’t dive below the surface and I will probably not revisit very often in future. So saying, I return to my original intent for this blog:
Inspiration occurs in those eureka moments when the tao is envisioned and ones reality tunnel expands to find manifestations, heretofore considered anomalies, as necessary variations in the dance of life. Such glimpses dissolve the constant argument of duality through realization that neither could be perceived without the contrast of the other and that the tao lies on the threshold between them. I have no idea if inspiration occurs like rain drops throughout everyones life or whether there is a practice with which one may turn on the shower, but I tend to go with the idea that inspiration occurs any moment one fully realizes themselves to be here now. The frequency or duration of inspiration would then depend on ones ability and willingness to recognize such a state for what it is and the desirability of lingering in it long enough to learn what lies within.
Inspiration is the essence of creativity as the artist manifests the here now visions to communicate it to others who may have had such moments or to tip the balance for those who haven’t. One such moment was communicated to me so thoroughly that it has become the basis from which my cosmological, metaphysical ideas flow. The capsule of inspiration that began this trip was an article on child development, which I have been unable to relocate since and would appreciate a reference if you have heard of this experiment, talking of allowing children young enough to consider inexperienced in eating much beyond the nursing stage but old enough to get to and eat anything they find. With at least one observer for each child the entire group spent their days in a daycare setting with play objects and the widest range of choices of edible foods they could arrange, available from morning to night. With careful monitoring, without supervision, of each child for its particular intake and examination of the composition of its stool over a period considered valid, the unanimous inference of the study was that, left to themselves, each child had settled on a fairly regular, 15 item, diet which was the best choice they could have made considering their particular metabolism and physical requirements. The variations in the diets for the children matched their biological variation.
The upshot of reading that article has been my strict attention and adherence to the internal messages my consciousness receives from whatever the cells of my body are reporting as my prime directive. Their is no higher authority in my life and only the golden rule supersedes it when dealing with my environment. Such messages come in different forms, depending on my attention to my thoughts. If I am full of intent in the material world the messages have to accost me gently with urges, hunches, intuitions and instincts strong enough to interrupt thinking about my purpose. If I’m not involved in action, the thinking of my imagination about discoveries of my curiosity is much easier to interrupt and usually with messages quite tangent to whatever I was pondering at the time. These messages seem to be from the elders, from my genetic memory which knows the ways of nature on earth over billions of years of experience and is the source of those urges when I am busier. At those times I stop thinking to meditate the messages are most clear to me and least expressible except as learning new and broader ways of thinking about it all. One may go deeper into meditation until the one all the variations are on the theme of dissolves to the nothingness it is. There is nothing here but the one that knows it. And as the butterfly dreams it is a chinaman drinking tea I awake to the variations of my reflection.