*bows* to you this morning Audrey.
Thank you for a spectacular post~~ I love your poem.
I lived in Seattle for a time, and remember those funny growing seasons. As to
the tomatoes-- you may end up with fried green tomatoes for supper...
As a gardener myself, from planting to harvest, I am reminded of the beauty and
spirit in nature.. k
--- On Mon, 10/11/10, audreydc1983 <audreydc1...@yahoo.com> wrote:
From: audreydc1983 <audreydc1...@yahoo.com>
Subject: [Zen] Mindfulness - awareness in the here and now
Date: Monday, October 11, 2010, 3:21 AM
Over the past month I have been consumed by worry - about my husband's college
grades, the house that we're buying (we're waiting to hear back from the bank
after a month. UGH.), my dog had another colitis "attack" (not fun, but
manageable), and my half brother (an anonymous surrogate birth) finally found
us - he's 22 (I don't know what to say! Ack!).
I've always been a worrier. I've worried about the future - and I've worried
about the past. I've worried about bills. I've worried about my health, and
that of my family. I've even worried myself into an ulcer, on several
Over the past week, I have read many articles and information on mindfulness. I
closed my eyes, stopped to take a breath, and somehow felt a...shift.
I suddenly just...got it. In my mind's eye, an image of a tomato appeared - and
I knew what it meant.
In the great Pacific NW, tomatoes haven't been ripening well this year. There
are still a lot of green tomatoes on the vine. There are a few tomatoes that
I'm WAITING on - I've seen the hints of yellow and red, and I'm anxious for
them to ripen so that I can pick and eat 'em.
I have to accept the tomato - acknowledge it's beauty in it's
not-quite-red-ness, NOW. Does that make sense? Oh, well - it does to me, anyway.
right mindfulness blossoming
red and green beauty.