Thursday, September 27, 2012
The praying mantis was out eating baby crickets, no doubt. The hummingbird moth was exploring the nectar of the pink and pale pink blossoms. We were in twilight, and darkness settled around us, inside the awe, an expansive, opening state of mind. Then, because there were things to be done, we went inside and did them.
I've been reading After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, by Jack Kornfield, subtitled How the Heart Grows Wise on the Spiritual Path. I'm glad to be on a spiritual path, however meandering, and glad to know I'm not alone in 1) wishing the ecstasy could last and 2) needing to do the relentless laundry.
Balsam is a variety of impatiens (aka impatience), and I cannot be impatient with myself, waiting for my heart to grow wise. Sigh...
hummingbird moth, or Hemaris, a kind of sphinx moth, has that nickname because it is, and looks like, a moth, when its wings are still, and, with its wings beating, looks like a hummingbird. In Britain and Europe, a similar moth is called the Hummingbird Hawk-moth, or Hummingmoth (love that!). I'm going to ponder the twilight confusion of the hummingbird moth and the ecstasy of warm, fresh laundry, and how good it feels to fold the clothes and deposit them in the rooms of the ones who wear them.
IronChris. Reminds me of myself, spinning my wheels in search of sweetness. Getting nowhere, but ecstatic, aloft, and up close to beauty. And, like a cartoon coyote, about to fall into the ravine...while the roadrunner, as always, gets away!