Original me
My mom made me a CD with all of my baby pictures on it. 
This one has always been one of my favorite pictures of myself but I never had a copy of it until now. I can't stop staring at it.
I feel such love for that little three-year-old person with the calm, open, empty face. What was she thinking? What would I tell her if she were my child? How would I take care of her?
Sometimes I try to imagine myself very old, looking back at myself as I am now, and ask the same questions. I love the sense I get of myself as a clear, pure, stable entity, eternal and unchanged – and also, at the same time – as a brightly shimmering, moving, constantly shifting consciousness that's always flowing into and out of new ideas, experiences and states of being.
Sometimes too I like to look into my own eyes in the mirror until I start to see myself as both me and not-me. This exercise never fails to open my heart and make me feel so much kinder, not only toward myself but to everyone around me, too. You should try it sometime.
I'm on vacation this week and still not feeling much like blogging publicly. Things have been happening that I think I could write about, but then my mind always starts spinning them into what I've come to think of as "entertaining essays" meant for public consumption, and while there's really nothing wrong with that ... it's not where my heart is these days. So I'm writing mostly offline, and keeping it more to myself, for now.
A fire engine just went by on the main road with all its sirens blaring, and now the coyotes are going crazy out in the vineyards. There must be fifty of them barking and yipping out there.
Time for some sleep.
This one has always been one of my favorite pictures of myself but I never had a copy of it until now. I can't stop staring at it.I feel such love for that little three-year-old person with the calm, open, empty face. What was she thinking? What would I tell her if she were my child? How would I take care of her?
Sometimes I try to imagine myself very old, looking back at myself as I am now, and ask the same questions. I love the sense I get of myself as a clear, pure, stable entity, eternal and unchanged – and also, at the same time – as a brightly shimmering, moving, constantly shifting consciousness that's always flowing into and out of new ideas, experiences and states of being.
Sometimes too I like to look into my own eyes in the mirror until I start to see myself as both me and not-me. This exercise never fails to open my heart and make me feel so much kinder, not only toward myself but to everyone around me, too. You should try it sometime.
I'm on vacation this week and still not feeling much like blogging publicly. Things have been happening that I think I could write about, but then my mind always starts spinning them into what I've come to think of as "entertaining essays" meant for public consumption, and while there's really nothing wrong with that ... it's not where my heart is these days. So I'm writing mostly offline, and keeping it more to myself, for now.
A fire engine just went by on the main road with all its sirens blaring, and now the coyotes are going crazy out in the vineyards. There must be fifty of them barking and yipping out there.
Time for some sleep.
1 Comments:
what a nice gift from your mom. you were soooo adorable, and already so introspective and intelligent seeming at three. you must have been a delight. i hope you were appreciated despite the siblings who came so quickly after you. would love to know what you ended up doing for your birthday. am missing chatting with good, old friends, esp you.
-writermama
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