More Than Dirt

Here, as we close in on National Women's Day once more (and when you strike certain women, you'd better believe you strike a rock) I'm feeling a sort of leveling of this particular playing field, inside of me, happening.

Much as Warren and I are loathe to extend the legal action we're taking against RSS Security for the killing of our canine friends any longer than necessary, we have opted for a postponement to the court case. We're bringing yet another expert witness on board, and although I can't comment any further than that, I'm glad that we're doing our very best in memory of Charybdys, Chippy and Bart. To do any less than our best would feel like cheating them, and ourselves.

So I carry on paying the legal team - and find, to my surprise, that it's not painful at all. I have the money, and I'm no longer as attached to the stuff as I used to be. Actually, that's a terrible misrepresentation of my position with respect to money: I'm no longer attached to it at all. It's a form of letting go which fills my soul with peace.

And that soul has become at once so much wider, deeper and higher than I've ever been aware of it in this life, but also so much less personal. I feel at times as if I'm melting into the World Soul, my edges running into what Ken Wilber calls the Ground of All Being, and what I've just heard Neil Kramer describe in many more then four simple words. (Go on and listen to him being interviewed by Doug Lain at the Diet Soap Podcast, and tell me if he and Wilber aren't describing exactly the same thing.)

There are so many things surfacing in my life just now, that years ago would have driven me into a shouting tantrum - now they serve to remind me that it's not people and events which cause me to lose my footing, it's myself using people and events as an excuse to lose that footing.

And as I watch a returned House Martin swoop and dive in the marvelous Spring sky, I wonder how I could ever have thought that we were nothing more than animated dirt.