Peace in my aloneness
It's raining raining raining. The creek is up, rushing fast over the rocky valley bottom. The tanks are filling fast, the potbelly is going, very snug. Radio, tarot cards, homemade bread and pawpaw chutney, green vegetables and salad growing in the vegetable garden.
All is good.
The waterfall is a broken streak of white, jagged, down the distant escarpment face. The soft mists and rainclouds drift and swoop, revealing and disguising, reshaping the line of the ridge, now outlining a lone forest giant, now a gully line I never knew was there. Two big wedge-tailed eagles fly over, cruising, hunting, and a large raven, undaunted, chases them off, flying with great flaps. The eagles barking and soaring, hardly ever a wing-flap, masters of the great serene sweep over the wild forest. The brush-box giants below, trunks flaming red, wet with the rain.
To walk in the misty valley, stand in the middle of the crossing with the creek water up to my boots, look at the eagles and the parrots and the swallows - to look, head back, up to the top of the ridge line with the rushing water of the creek in my ears, to look at my road crossing and see how last night the creek was half a metre over it. Such happiness, my heart big in my chest, my mouth in a smile.
My solitude is an enriching time.
Peace in my house.
And what is peace? Peace is not the absence of alarm, or not just that. It has a positive quality of harmony that sends a quiet, gentle, restful fragrance around it. It is well defended, since its fragility is delicate. Like feather-fanworms in the coral, it vanishes instantly anything less than full expression is allowed; just a current of water waved over the fans makes them disappear, just a verbal jab of power play sends peace away for ever. I will cultivate this quality of peace around me, and in me. I will fill myself up with it, let it penetrate bone and pores, lungs, eyes and aura, let it become my climate.
In this place my sense of not being loved is answered and love pours in from the land, from the trees of the forest, from the birds and animals, from the clouds and the wild winds, from the waters of the rain, the waterfall and the creek. I am only separate from them to notice them, to delight in them, to bring them into consciousness: otherwise, I am in them and they in me. Their energy, vitality, prana pours in and through me, and makes this sense of peace an alive thing, vibrant with new life and possibility, a place of deep renewal from the well-springs of spirit.
© Sagarpriya 1995
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