Blogging is a mixed bag for me. I love giving and receiving conversations with those souls that have that “thing”, that sense of who I really am, who connect on a deeper level.
But my drive to talk here is mercurial, at best. Sometimes I just can’t bare my soul, for it is raw and tender to the touch. I’ve watched others share their journeys of discovery and renewal and admire the courage that it sometimes takes to do it. I envy the self-discipline of the weekly blogger; every Wednesday on the nose like clockwork–dependable and informative.
So. I am not committing to a schedule. I wish to, that’s for sure, but I also know myself and am learning how to accept those little quirks that make up who I am. Flawed, scarred, unique. Yep, that’s me. I’ve had several blogs on WordPress, thinking that each new name, each new theme, would give me the impetus to “buckle down”. Uh, no. I fight authority and hate any kind of restriction that binds me to something that requires discipline. My own exuberance…or burden, if you will…denies the confines that come with adulthood. I pay my bills on time, brush my teeth when I should, take my meds when I should. But don’t make me do something that I don’t feel like doing.
I have gardened for years and love, love, love it. I have come to realize that although the sweet abandon of the Green Realm fulfills me unlike most other things, there is a form of discipline that comes with the hourly, daily, seasonally and yearly energy that it takes to nurture the gifts of Nature.This is a place of religion, the driving force behind most of my own actions. When I find the surprisingly huge zucchini that wasn’t there the day before, I am delighted with the thought that maybe, just maybe, the garden gnomes snuck one in on me; when a rose blooms during the night and makes my morning glorious, in the back of my mind I think of butterflies kissing them open at dawn.
What I’m saying is that mystery is soul-quenching. I have always followed the quest of enlightenment, not in some lofty way, but as a child of life, always curious. In my older years I have slowly lost that sneaking suspicion that Santa is real or that there are real answers beyond the hedge. So I’m making my way back to the innocence that feeds me. I’m retired and now (thank the Stars!) I have that freedom to spend my time how I want to. And sometimes I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to put words together in an organized fashion so that I seem grownup and intelligent. Being adult about things is vastly overrated.
My teacher once told me that discipline is a gift we give ourselves in order to move forward and I don’t disagree with that. But I am choosing my battles more carefully these days. Sometimes you just gotta dance without inhibition. Gets the juices flowing, so to speak. So here, a Bone Collector as one who excavates the authentic Wild Self, I will do as I choose, and let go of judgement on how or when I conform.
Who knows? Blogging might turn out to be fun. I am giving myself permission to find out.