Saturday, May 26, 2007

First Post

My friend Lars of Portland, Oregon has taken the immense leap to start his own Blog and I was so impressed with that and what he's done that I, too, am going to begin one. I do a great amount of writing anyway and this is one way that I can keep a journal for myself and whatever other poor soul to read.

During my late teens and into my twenties I kept a journal which ended up being nearly 800 pages. It contains, among other things, the predictable rants of an angst-driven, hormonally-charged young male, some pretty sappy and some pretty good poetry, a great deal of fist shaking at God re-inventing nearly everything already chewed over during the Reformation - (no matter: I wasn't around then to give my two pfennigs worth) - and some pretty competitive recipes and stories about Sourdough bread.

Today finds me a different sort of man then I was thirty some-odd years ago. Certainly calmer and released of that angst that so fueled my post-adolescent Belly of Fire. The parents are no longer to blame for all the ills that have unceremoniously decorated my life - I joyously claim full responsibility for every last one of them - One doesn't get to where one is at present without both the wheat AND the chaff. Some of us had, p'raps, a tad more chaff than was wanted but look at what a lovely Hot Crossed Buns we've become!

During this third half of my life, I find I'm a happier, more resolved person. While hardly self-actualized, at this point I'm finding greater grounding in my acceptance of who I am and what I have become. My Saxonisch is getting better day by day, my Kriya studies deepen and the roar of the Universe becomes more exquisite each day. I've gained a calm confidence that here-to-fore hadn't existed; well, p'raps it was there as a kernel, a seed, if you will . . . but remained sadly unwatered until a couple of years ago. It's a testament to spiritual horticulture that these seeds planted within us are quite content, much as a desert succulent, to be patient enough to wait for the moment, that precise moment, when it's gardener decides to pay attention to his own garden and cultivate what already awaits within his fertile soil.