Once in a while I feel like I have had enough of experiencing the world from this body, with my thoughts, my past and present being. I wonder how it would be to experience life from within the experience of someone else. To be a young child, to be male, to be a bird flying in the sky. To be my dog sleeping in the sun. Today, as I brought this mornings meditation with me, I became very aware of awareness itself AND the boundedness of this awareness to this body and time. And also, that I am aware of this ever since I was a small child. There has often been something in me that marvels at being able to experience life; and yet is curious about other experiences, that would love to change perspective.

There is a great contradiction in me: a life force, which is strong, both peaceful, deep and quiet and like a volcano: full energy waiting to burst into the world creative, dancing energy, loving and fruitful. And there is the reality of this body, tired, aching, dizzy; a life in which I try to contribute to family life, but have to drag myself along to do so. And sometimes I forget the latter, I feel like going for a long walk, but as I become aware of the picture in my mind’s eye: I see myself walking in the nearby woods, energetic, happy enjoying the outdoors…I sense my body an realize that I am not able to walk like that.

And while I do not resent my body, I feel sometimes caged by it. I feel fed up, by how it weighs me down. Especially, while its lack of energy is also limiting my ability to concentrate, to have nice conservations with friends, to read a good book, to work, to play a long game with my kids……. There are tons of things I would love to do….They pop up in me…give me a spirit…yet cannot flourish or bloom….I feel like my dog in the morning: jumping around excitedly to get out, but having to wait till….yeah till when…if ever.

So there is my caleidoscopic field:  aware of my longing, of my resistance to accepting this bodily being, of my  judgmental thought telling me to be ‘grateful to be alive’. Looking outside seeing a pink dahlia in the garden. Hearing a key in the lock, as my middle son comes home from school. My heart lifts up. The birds sing. A moment of content. A butterfly in the garden catches my eye.

And my awareness of writing this, a longing to share my experience with you. And a judgmental thought about this longing. And a dissonant thought rising from deep inside my belly:  I post it anyway.

And my awareness that with this tired body and tired mind, my experience differs from that of a year ago, 10 years ago, 30 years ago… I can trace a history to today, and in that sense it is my life, and this is my body. But my wish to have another perspective has been granted, albeit not in the way I may have hoped.