Shedding dead skin

Just as a snake sheds its skin,so we should shed our past, over and over again.  The Buddha

For  many ancient people,   the snake was a symbol of life, shedding its skin again and again to be born anew.  This was frequently represented in the  image of the snake as a circle eating its own tail.  Jung  believed that this symbol had an archetypal meaning for humans, with snakes having the enviable quality of being able to let go of what was no longer needed for growth and start again, seeing the world from a fresh new perspective. For example, the Dunsun tribe in Northern Borneo have a myth about the origins of humankind, which really  reveals their way of grappling with some of the ongoing realities of human existence.  In their Creation Myth, humans are contrasted with snakes, who are seen to continually renew themselves by shedding their skin. In this way it was believed that they did not die.  Growth for us sometimes means letting go and moving on from the past, shedding dead skin in order to live fully.

The way to stay closest to the pulse of life, the way to stay in the presence of that divine reality which informs everything is to be willing to change. Still, change what? To change whatever has ceased to function within us. To shed whatever we are carrying that is no longer alive. To cast off our dead skin because dead skin can’t feel. Dead eyes can’t see. Dead ears can’t hear. And without feeling, there is no chance of wholeness, and wholeness remains our best chance to survive the pain of breaking.

Mark Nepo, The Book of Awakening

Searching for a home

beach 44

There is an internal landscape, a geography of the soul; we search for  its outlines all our lives.   Some  find it in the place of their birth; others may leave a seaside town,  parched, and find themselves refreshed in the desert.  There are those  born in rolling countryside who are really only at ease in the intense  and busy loneliness of the city.  For some, the search is for the  imprint of another; a child or a mother, a grandfather or a brother, a  lover, a husband, a wife, or a foe.  We may go through our lives happy  or unhappy, successful or unfulfilled, loved or unloved, without ever  standing cold with the shock of recognition, without ever feeling the  agony as the twisted iron in our soul unlocks itself and we slip at last  into place.

Josephine Hart

Sunday Quote: Taking time

thanks slowing down

Life is so short,

we should all move slowly

Thich Nhat Hanh

A change in climate

rain-puddle

Let me say this before rain becomes a utility that they can plan and distribute for money. By “they” I mean the people who cannot understand that rain is a festival, who do not appreciate its gratuity, who think that what has no price has no value, that what cannot be sold is not real, so that the only way to make something actual is to place it on the market. The time will come when they will sell you even your rain. At the moment it is still free, and I am in it. I celebrate its gratuity and its meaninglessness.

Nobody started it, nobody is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants, this rain.

As long as it talks I am going to listen.

Thomas Merton, Rain and the Rhinoceros

How we grow

flower in rocks

The promise of being broken

and the possibility of being opened

are written into the contract of human life.

Elizabeth Lesser, Broken Open

Heartfulness

File:The pure clean spring water of Lowthorpe Beck - geograph.org.uk - 222624.jpg
“How cruel the whites are: their lips are thin, their noses sharp, their faces furrowed and distorted by holes. Their eyes have a staring expression. They are always seeking something. What are they seeking? The whites always want something, they are always uneasy and restless. We do not know what they want, we do not understand them, we think that they are mad.”
I asked him why he thought the whites were all mad.
“They say they think with their heads,” he replied.
“Why, of course. What do you think with?” I asked him in surprise.
“We think here,” he said, indicating his heart”.
C. G. Jung,  Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Conversation with Ochwiay Biano, an elder of the Taos Pueblo Tribe, New Mexico, 1925