Interiority and Exteriority

Hello beloved reader,

I had a whole post written, but now it doesn’t feel “right.” I’m not sure if it’s my Inner Critic acting up, or identification with my ego, or what’s going on. So I’ve decided to simply share what I wrote in a class I’m taking with

Beth Kempton

called INK & FLAME, where we have been experimenting with writing about interiority and exteriority—the ever-present dance between what is happening within us and the external events in the world that unfolds around us.

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I write to live my dharma¹, and my dharma is to evolve my own consciousness and that of others.

“We already have a fireplace right here,” I said, pointing to the opposite wall in the living room of our decades-old log cabin with cathedral ceilings.

In a world that is burning, a world in transition, where we await the phoenix to rise from the ashes, I write words hoping to spark an evolution of consciousness.

Jamie is the one who will clean the window on the front of the Jotul wood-burning stove periodically so we can watch the orangey yellow flames — sometimes tinged with a glowing red, or even sometimes the lick of a blue flame — all dancing over the logs.

I practice remembering the thoughts that pass through my mind, are not who I am; remembering the vast interconnectedness with all of life — all sentient beings, all of our natural world, all of the unseen world.

Then I take the Jotul’s drawer full of ash to the metal bin outside — often requiring me to slip my bare feet into my zip-front sheepskin boots, so I can walk over to the bin lodged in the snow, lift its lid and dump in the ash.

Love matters to me. Loving kindness and compassion matter.

I’ve even been known to do this in my bathrobe in the freezing cold.

I would love for my writing to spark an evolution of consciousness.

We don’t have any close neighbors out here in the woods, only the trees are watching.

I’m not in control of what wants to flow through me.

We have a ceiling fan that Jamie has rigged up with electronics so that when it’s warmer upstairs in our loft bedroom than it is in the living room—by 2 degrees Fahrenheit—the fan will click onto high and push the warm air back down. I live with a creative genius.

p.s. I’m pressing “publish” live today, rather than scheduling the post to go out at a later time. Right now here in Bulahdelah, Australia where I’m visiting family, it’s 6:10 pm on Saturday March 1st (the eve of my 58th birthday), which is 2am on Saturday morning in New Hampshire, USA where I live.

And as I am about to hit “publish” I offer blessings on this alchemical process of offering my words to the world, and blessings to you as you read these words🥰♥️🙏🕊️

1. Chapter 15. The Bhagavad Gita, New Hampshire, April 2013