I doubt if this busy mind will ever be empty; but then again, I don’t worry about it, because I have zero control over it. I don’t have to touch the mind’s rant, however, or get involved with it.

There was a time when I couldn’t imagine being able to leave the mind’s rant alone. But the more that I take note that the mind is always lagging behind the moment, is remarkably unreliable, and often downright mean–mostly to my own body-mind–the easier it becomes not to touch it. Why would I want to? Save it instead, for what it’s good at–practical life detail. Keeping a calendar. Paying bills. Writing. Cooking a nourishing dinner.

Still, I love the phrase empty-minded and open-hearted. When we leave the mind alone, the heart opens and becomes the more active center, and we can move from there. The heart–when it is not weighted down with story and the feelings that compound the story–doesn’t lag behind; it responds in the moment, appropriately.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013
photo credit: my son’s original art, about age 5

Many people, particularly people who have been active in causes of one sort or another, are concerned that if they awaken they will lose their drive to reduce suffering in the world. They are afraid of losing who they know themselves to be. One needn’t worry about this, or even have concern. There may be a period of readjustment where certain activities are reduced or cease altogether; that’s a needed time of reorientation. The very cells of the body are undergoing a powerful transformation.

I write. It’s true that I used to write fiction, and at this point I am not drawn to do so. There was also a period where I didn’t write at all–I think that lasted six months to a year, and occurred when my attraction to story fell away. But the passion for expressing through words returned–you might even think with a vengeance! It simply flows in a different channel than before.

Activities that you are drawn to may change, as well. For example, Rupert Spira is a fine potter–many of his pieces are in museums and private collections. Yet he doesn’t make pots anymore, because he has discovered a passion for pointing to the truth of what we are. Instead of shaping clay, he is opening hearts to the deepest understanding–a highly creative activity, but in an apparently different realm. I say “apparently” because in essence, the realms of beauty and love are the same.

Life is perpetually changing–and there is no why. It’s simply to open and flow with–now, and now, and now.

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013
photo credit: Rupert Spira’s website Go there to see more of his astonishingly beautiful pots.

“What will happen?” This question has haunted me most of my life. Sometimes the thought arises, “When did this begin, this unnatural fear of life?”

But the question is unnecessary; it simply doesn’t matter. It’s been part of this particular life pattern, that’s all.

I spent much of my mental life thinking about, and preparing for, worst-case scenarios so if they did come to pass, I might be prepared, or at least the feared event wouldn’t blindside me. But when I think back to the scary and outrageous events that have occurred in my life, I never come close to imagining any of them. All of that creative mental energy worrying, spent for naught.

But blindsiding showed up anyway, because reality is more wild, more ludicrous, more spectacular than our insubstantial minds can conjure. Twenty-one years ago, I was struck by the butt-end of a huge falling oak branch. As soon as my husband rushed to my side, I asked him, “Am I going to die?” He had the good common sense to tell me no. But there was my most basic question, “What will happen?”

The delicious beauty and ease is in letting the question go. Any future or past that we might obsess about is only a thought that occurs now. So when the question arises–much less often these days–as soon as I notice my old companion, so very, very familiar, I set it gently down, and return here.

Ah!

© Amrita Skye Blaine, 2013