I am the hanging on

I am the one

Shouted by the kid, one of the five hanging onto the edge of the surf board today in Sandy Cove Kinsale. And it got me to thinking.

So many people, so many of us feel this way, often.

We are hanging on to this life, this way, that way. This struggle, this joy; just hanging on as the days pass us by. Life not really lived but tolerated on some level.

Anything can happen at any moment. The unknown lurks around each corner, always present. I say” allow for the wild card".

We don't know and perhaps should not know what's coming next! Perhaps we can to some degree rely on the breath as a constant. When we joyously awaken each day we can rely on the breath.

If we think we know the outcome of a thing, we constantly create the known. We fail to venture into the unknown lands and territories of our own psyche, body and soul.

Trust the process they say in schools of thought dedicated to exploration. Psychonautic explorations of mind of body of psyche. Holotropic states of consciousness. Breathe. Breathing will take you places of value.

Places that can loosen the debris of the mind. The stuff that lodges because somehow we believe it to be valuable. So we stare at it as it calcifies into hardened thoughts we once thought of as wisdom.

Wisdom has no resting place really. No place to become hardened and crystallized. Wisdom is a flowing river, moving always and all ways.

Always available to what's present to what's happening. Watching how It moves and winds and flows and gurgles, available to the bumps, the nooks and crannies of consciousness as they come and go. Wisdom does not ever calcify into nuggets that then tend to express themselves on others rivers inserting themselves into young minds who end up owning them as precious jewels, regurgitating them on and on until that freshness and truth that may have been present in the first instance, has all but vanished. Poof, gone, become other than the original intent.

Creative minds seek newness. Create other. Excite at the prospect of the unknown. Comfort and fear are not good bedfellows. They only create stagnant pools where perhaps something is being cooked, but when left too long will rot.