As I look at today’s waxing, it feels to be a good fit for the season. Last night the clocks went back, marking the end of BST…Autumn is in its final fling before Winter sets in… I have mixed feelings about this time of year… I like that there’s a brief respite from the dark mornings, that for the next couple of weeks, I’ll be starting my day in sunlight already risen, that on good days, the rays will hit the trees just so and make the leaves look like shimmering drops of amber, amongst fiery reds, glowing burnt oranges and scattered shades of purples… I don’t like so much that my evening runs will be plunged into darkness…A reminder that soon mornings and evenings will be hard to tell apart and in between will be the dismal greyness that befuddles time – what time is it now? Time to get up or time to go back to sleep…Sleep…I think back to this morning’s dream, a golden gift landing on the back of this extra hour which allowed me to stay a while longer under the duvet rather than leap into the day…I look at the face in the waxing…dead to the world…but inside that head…dreams coming to life… I look again at the head…There’s something familiar about it…Something to do with my garden…I stroll outside…oh yes…of course!
The Broken Buddha…once a large statue sat in a quiet corner…Serene and whole until an idiot neighbour decided to yet again try and cut down the tree that refuses to quit growing back…A thunderous crash as the once vertical greenery became horizontal across the end of our garden. The side panels of fencing wiped out in the ill thought out pruning and under all this carnage the Buddha laid out and left for dead… I’m not sure what happened to his body, but the cracked opened head was kept until a time would come to repurpose it and give it new life… The Broken Buddha found its new home in a cracked bird bath. The bird bath nearly got dumped as what use is a cracked dish that will not hold water? Hmm…A cracked dish that won’t hold water? Hmm…that sounds like a planter with perfect inbuilt drainage…so the bird bath and the Buddha were both filled with compost and soil and plants and lived happily as soul mates… I think about deciduous trees and how some things are for a season… I look inside the Buddha’s cracked open skull filled with black earth…filled with bright life…I ponder that maybe in the dark places of our minds is where our evergreen thoughts abide… Things that are always growing there, not for a season but for a reason…
The pure and blessed way 