Manifest Spontaneity

So hard.  Afraid to let the words come, but I think I just will let the words come.  And it's hard.  The feelings are down below where the words swirl.  Falling apart.  Falling apart.  Holding together and falling apart.  Tired and afraid.  What is cowardice? Right-hand vajra-fist itching for the tip of the ink-dipped stroke-brush.  Heart feeling like a sponge full of tears.  I am hesitant to squeeze.  I remember Nayyirah Waheed, "i am a silk field of vulnerability." Cheerful low-key beats palpate my spongeheart.  Do tears wring like freedom? Yesterday, I was one of two people facilitating the Denver Shambhala community meeting.  I've been reflecting on why I feel so exhausted afterwards.  I don't think it's just the community meeting.  It's days and days of feeling.  I remember a recounted anecdote: Trungpa Rinpoche saying to Allen Ginsberg, "Don't you trust your own mind?"  Don't I trust my own heart?   Trust my own heart wit

About a year and a half ago my friend and editor told me that she’d like to see me write a piece on my life journey/direction and how finding and practicing the Shambhala teachings has influenced my trajectory.  At the time, that writing project seemed attractive, but daunting and I told myself (and her) that I really didn’t have time to do it right then.  From one point of view that’s true.  I could also say that I don’t have the time right now.  There are too many other things to do.  Finishing my dissertation.  Finding a career direction.  Establishing myself in a new city.   But when I look honestly, the truer reason that I don’t want to write that piece right now is that the course correction is still in progress.  I don’t now what I want to become, what career path I want to take, what role I want to take in shifting the cultural currents of today.  I do not know. Sculpture by Jamie Salmon, accessed at  https://www.trendhunter.com/trends/photorealistic-sculptures#!/photos/