Open, Curious and Playful.
A Blustery Day
Dear Friend,
The wind drives drops of rain against the kitchen doors. The cherry tree’s leaves are yellowing, with spots of dark rust forming along their edges—its bark slick and dark against the low grey of the cloud cover.
Beneath the wind, the roar of a superbike’s engine rises from the high road.
The wisteria is in a similar stage to the cherry tree. The magnolia tree looks like little more than a collection of bare branches waving in the wind from its turquoise blue pot.
A magpie struggles to balance on a terracotta chimney pot. The wind catches its tail and blows the bird down onto a neighbour’s tiled roof. It lands on its feet and hops away to a lower perch.
There’s something about this windy, wet, cold November day that’s calling me out into it.
When we were kids, we’d beg to be allowed out in storms for the sheer thrill of it—red cheeks glowing, wet hair plastered to our faces.
On school days, the playground would be full of kids hoisting their coats over their heads like ships’ sails, giddy with the joy of being blown almost off our feet.
We loved to be out in the wild spaces of our town and shores, woods and fields.
To touch nature.
To feel the world buffeting you.
Like a friend in a game,
Making up the rules as we went along.
How much has changed since we were children in the world.
You’d hardly recognise it.
I’m thinking of changes in technology.
But I can’t help noticing: though the world of technology is full of incredible wonders, and the structures I used to take for granted seem exposed and crumbling, there’s something here that remains the same.
This feeling of being.
As the false self recedes and mental concepts lose their status as carriers of truth,
A simple realisation emerges: of being alive, loving, and present.
You notice you’re still that kid.
Knowing nothing.
Everything open to your sense of curiosity.
A cold, wet, dark, blustery day
Becomes play.
It reminds me of the message our friend Alison left us:
To be open, curious, and playful.
I’m pulling on my wellies, wrapping up in the scarf Kevin got me, and heading out.
In memory of Allie.
Till tomorrow,
Love,
Mikey