Right Here, Right Now
I have to remember to say it. Over and over, in my mind, like some kind of mantra. Not "some kind of." It IS a mantra. I need to remind myself that I cannot control everything and what I have no control over, I need to learn to accept.
Being away from the Ranch is hard for me, psychologically. I'll stress over everything and stay up at night wondering "what if...," working up countless idiotic scenarios.
"Maybe the motion sensor light that we haphazardly rigged to battle the bats (again! on a different side of the house!) got wet, shorted and burned down our house?"
"What if the gophers got the better of the ranch and stripped it of its vegetation?"
I worried a lot about the ranch. But, I worried a lot about our aging parents, too, and all the medical disasters waiting to strike. And when I wasn't thinking of the ranch or the old folks, I was phobing over all the little, loose "to dos" that have yet to become "dids."
I got back to The Ranch last Friday, literally steps before the next giant wave of visitors, but there is something strangely calming about this place. I don't need to keep chanting "right here, right now." Is it because the "right now" of "right here" is so perfect and my mind has no desire to wander? I don't know. It just feels right. Here.
And now that all the guests are gone and the ranch is back to its perfectly quiet self, it's only natural that nature itself also relaxes, yawns, lets its hair down, takes a big stretch. A bushy tailed fox appeared this morning in front of the old barn (walking away from the chicken coop -- the chickens were okay) and then, a baby bobcat by the creek this afternoon. Perfect parts of a perfect picture.
Being away from the Ranch is hard for me, psychologically. I'll stress over everything and stay up at night wondering "what if...," working up countless idiotic scenarios.
"Maybe the motion sensor light that we haphazardly rigged to battle the bats (again! on a different side of the house!) got wet, shorted and burned down our house?"
"What if the gophers got the better of the ranch and stripped it of its vegetation?"
I worried a lot about the ranch. But, I worried a lot about our aging parents, too, and all the medical disasters waiting to strike. And when I wasn't thinking of the ranch or the old folks, I was phobing over all the little, loose "to dos" that have yet to become "dids."
I got back to The Ranch last Friday, literally steps before the next giant wave of visitors, but there is something strangely calming about this place. I don't need to keep chanting "right here, right now." Is it because the "right now" of "right here" is so perfect and my mind has no desire to wander? I don't know. It just feels right. Here.
And now that all the guests are gone and the ranch is back to its perfectly quiet self, it's only natural that nature itself also relaxes, yawns, lets its hair down, takes a big stretch. A bushy tailed fox appeared this morning in front of the old barn (walking away from the chicken coop -- the chickens were okay) and then, a baby bobcat by the creek this afternoon. Perfect parts of a perfect picture.
Labels: nature, Ranch, road to satori
posted by bad-dog at 3:20 PM
1 Comments:
I read your post 'Right here, Right now' and immediately to the right is your profile which includes the word 'homeless'.
I think you will have to update your profile by admitting you have found a home. Every word of the post would seem to indicate your heart lies there. Quibbles about ownership issues are beside the point. You have a home.
Cheers, Paul
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