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Another cute picture of Eleanor under the rug

Another cute picture of Eleanor under the rug

A couple of days ago, Jack and I took a drive into the Adirondack Mountains, ate lunch at a sweet little bakery in North Creek, stopped by Nettle Meadow to buy a wheel of their incredible goat cheese, and ended our day by swimming in Lake George. As I write this, it sounds like such a lovely day; the kind of day that if I were reading about it, and it wasn’t actually my life, I would think, “How romantic. How idyllic.”

And it was a lovely day on the outside.

But my insides didn’t match up with the story. I just felt sort of jumpy, and nothing that we did changed my feelings or made me feel relaxed or soothed, even though every outside thing (company, restaurant, weather) was perfect. And on top of this, I was feeling upset with myself for feeling this way, and my mind was racing around trying to solve the mystery of my unhappy state, so even with the calm externals, I was very busy mentally.

Finally, as I sat on the sand at the edge of Lake George, watching Jack swim around, unable to figure out what was wrong with me, I said to myself, “There is calm and deep peace always inside me.” I repeated this several times and I could feel it begin to grow. It was so quick that it actually surprised me. All of that slightly irritable, not-quite-happy-where-I-was feeling, slipped away and was replaced by inner peace.

It was just so easy. I didn’t need to figure out why I was feeling the way I was, I just needed to call on a larger truth; one that I know is always there, but I don’t always feel,… and when I don’t feel it, I can tend to forget it, and when I forget it, I begin to run around trying to fix it/me, and then I am lost in a downward spiral of looking at everything as a problem to be solved, which is not the truth. There are no problems, just problematic ways of thinking.

The real you, the inner you, is pure, very pure. It’s loving and it’s magnanimous. It understands. It has patience. It is tolerant…it will wait forever while your ego trots all over everywhere trying to figure life out. It’s pleasing to remember that back home is a friend who’s waiting for you to stop being silly, who’s waiting to welcome you with open arms if and when you show up.” from The Secrets of Life, by Stuart Wilde