Just finished, "In Her Shoes" again. You know, as part of my Jennifer Weiner re-readathon. I only re-read two, but two was enough and they were good, even though I'm not usually into re-reading. Thank god I'm reading more fiction again...Something is wrong when you can no longer bear to settle into fiction. It is as if your mind will not tolerate something that does not result in some sort of "gain," whether it is professional, personal or spiritual. I find that as I've practiced presence more, reading fiction is back (replacing dumb, often regretted internet time) and I'm having fun with it. It makes me sad to think of all of the time I didn't read that kind of book...it's so good for the soul to invest in something that is made-up and just as and transient as the lives we are living right now.
and of course I'm still reading "A New Earth," by Eckhart Tolle.
In his book, Eckhart Tolle says, "The key to understanding 'this to will pass' is knowing that non-resistance, non-judgement and non-attachments are the (keys to) enlightened living. Once you see and accept the transience of all things and the inevitability of change, you can enjoy the pleasures of the world while they last without fear or anxiety about the future."
Love it. I love this book. I love the WAY he quotes Jesus...It feels like that final connection I've been looking for (consciously and unconsciously) to reconcile the Buddhist philosophies that make so much sense to me and have brought me the most peace with the intensity and intimacy of my childhood connection with Christianity. I love reflecting back on verses from the Bible that used to mean so much to me. I haven't known what to do with those for awhile, but they fit in so well with this paradigm of thinking.
I'm grateful for mornings with flickering candles and heavy cups of coffee...open patio doors...relaxing with books and slow, purposeful breathing. I'm grateful to go to work in an inspired setting with inspired people, and to share laughs with kids, to work in small groups at my little kidney bean-shaped table, with my window open behind me, listening to spring's birds, the old-school bowling alley-ish wood floors shining in the sun. It could all end, disappear, turn out to be a fleeting dream, one of a million bubbles on a fast-moving stream. There is nothing I can do to make the impermanent permanent. That used to cause me pain. But it is reality, and accepting it feels better than the mirage of stability.
