rise from the ashes

I have learned many things about life over the years....this is one of them. It seems to be a theme coming through in my daily meditation practice too. Casting off the limits I have placed on myself even though I have ironically preached the "no limits" message in the past. Fresh from sleep, the rise and fall, in and out, of my breath in meditation feels like bellows on the coals of a fire that has yearned for so long to burst into flames.

I think when life tries to limit us, it's a test. The real limits come from us ("if *you* give in and let it"). We always have a choice, even when we don't like the options.

I'm ready to play a bit harder now. I'm ready to rise from the ashes.

the writer's garden

"The soil is warming. We gardeners grow ever more watchful, sniffing the air as excitedly as beagles, peering into the vegetation to detect those first thrilling signs of life. Is that a distance haze of green? Wait: did you hear birdsong? At long long last, after months of enforced dormancy, we tell ourselves it might be time to begin." - Charlotte Mendelson, "Rhapsody in Green"

The last weekend in March, I planted early potatoes. A week later, the rhubarb we'd given up for dead did a Jesus and came back to life, the blueberry bush began sprouting green leaves and the cherry tree exploded in pink blossoms.

Tom and I went out for a run and came back to a generous bag of horse manure on the front step, gift of our mechanic, also a keen gardener who told me rhubarb loves horse manure and he had a reliable local source.

My packets of seeds have been out on the bench for the last few weekends, waiting for the right, ripe moment to sow as April marches into May.

As Charlotte Mendelson writes in her lovely book of essays, this is such a nice time of year to be a gardener - a time where hope triumphs over experience, where we sow and are thrilled by the potential, like applying for a job we really want - you send your CV off, put the seed in the ground, and for a while, anything can happen. It's a lovely feeling.

Today I planted french beans and courgettes (zucchini), and there is a tomato plant on my kitchen windowsill. The cherry blossoms are falling and fading, to make way for the green leaves and fruit. The potatoes are thriving. The rhubarb is Trump-like in its determination to beat all the odds and completely take over. 

I love my garden. I hope it will be an abundant year, in every sense.

art thrives on restrictions

“I think there’s something to be said for making movies faster, rather than slower. I think that the years that are now consumed in obtaining a green light and the funding for a movie, and the amount of rewriting that scripts undergo, overcooks them to the point where a lot of times spontaneousness and a sort-of short-order cooking is lost. Something happens that robs them of a certain spontaneity, and when we were writing at breakneck speed, and turning things around really fast there is a kind of energy and enthusiasm that I think is sometimes lost when you have too much time. Art thrives on restrictions, and it’s not just money that can be restricted to good effect, it’s also sometimes time and the fact that we didn’t have enough time to second-guess ourselves may have worked to the film’s advantage.”

- Nicholas Meyer, Writer/Director of Star Trek VI

departed australia

Ten years ago, I took the biggest leap of faith of my life.

In the lead up, I was permanently anxious, trembling inside, terrified of it all going wrong.

But I chose to push through that discomfort, for underneath it all was a wise, calm voice that told me I simply had to do this.  And I trusted that voice.

I couldn't have told you why. There was only a knowing that I had to listen, I had to trust. I couldn't explain it. Sounds dramatic, I know - it felt dramatic at the time. I was reeling from the breakdown of my marriage the year before, feeling restless and shaky-footed in Melbourne, like a baby giraffe learning to walk. Every step towards this dream felt so freaking hard. 

But healing is hard. Change is hard. Finding out who you really are is hard. Moving away from the familiar and into the unknown, alone, is hard. 

It didn't feel particularly brave at the time - it felt exhilarating, terrifying and a little bit reckless. I didn't know what I'd find on the other side. 

But I had to depart so I could arrive.

Whatever your dream, I hope you find a way to face your fears and make it happen. It's so very, very worth it. 

yes, and

Influence is a tricky thing. I think it starts with love, with resonance, with the exhilarating feeling that what you’ve read articulates something you’ve always felt but never had the words for. It’s reading something and jumping into the conversation to say, yes, it was this way for me too. Yes, and. The and is the writing. The and is the book that is your answer.

- Julie Buntin, from this article