Spring has arrived in Bend in the predictably unpredictable manner reminiscent of summers in the Colorado high country where it seems possible, if not probable, to experience all four seasons in the course of a day. Or in keeping with the witty genius of Twain, perhaps best described in his following quote: In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of four and twenty hours.
With the tumultuousness in the weather (and the world for that manner) I find myself drawn daily to activities that quiet the mind: long runs in the desert with only the dogs, sagebrush, and remnants of magma that rose to the surface of this ruggedly beautiful land some 15 million years ago; sunny (or snowy/partly cloudy/rainy) afternoons spent in the garden, working the earth, allowing dirt to settle between my toes and gratitude to seep into my bones; deep yoga practices which force me to slow down, focus on my breath and explore the ever-evolving landscape of the interior world; buying yet one more meditation book in the hope of finally dedicating myself to a steady & surely transformative practice.
Most of this April weekend was spent transferring painting supplies from my 1930’s apartment that once served as pre-World War II officers' quarters to Colin and Cota’s garage which has no doubt served many purposes over the years, most recently as a woodshop/painting studio/gear repository for the Central Oregon lifestyle. While sweeping away the layers of winter I felt the unmistakable stirring of two things: 1) ALLERGIES and 2) that nameless desire, that ache to create.