Monday, March 15, 2010

The Art of Slow - A Manor Journal



I see my life the way I wish it, all faded blue and denim, brilliant peacock and watery grey tweed. A full circle of natural spectrum - nothing artificial, neon or blinking. A slow pace, beyond hustle and bustle, above NOW and instant. Where the bleating of sheep is my alarm clock and fresh turned earth mingles with morning coffee.

I am by no means backwoods (I am Lady of this Manor, after all). I don't necessarily wish to live off the grid. I've lived in the middle of nowhere - with honest conviction I say it is NOT for me. But nor is the city. The hustle, the bustle is not me either. A little patch of land, a garden for my flowers and veg. Several sets of hooves, a cackle of hens. These, yes these are me.

Hurry up, world says. Savor life, says I. Why hurry, I ask? Make more, the pursuit of muchness. Stuff. Ahead. The top rung of the proverbial ladder. At what expense? Health, well being, relationship, sanity? I'm tired of NOW. What about later?

Slow roasted, aged, fresh baked, stone ground. The way grandma made it. All day luncheon. Up with the chickens to feed them then coffee in woolly socks with companionable notepad and pen.

I crave slow. The smell of rain and the taste of sun. These things we rush past. I'm tired of rushing, of enslavement to ringing phone and time clock, of work to pay bills and not to feed the soul. I long for a stroll, not a race of breakneck speed. I don't want to wait until brakes must slam and tires must squeal. Casually I want off this carousel. Incessant spinning, I want to leap. TO experience a momentary weightlessness as toward destiny I fall.

I'll land, barefooted where wild flowers grow. A front porch will greet me with creaking steps and my lungs will shudder at the crispness of air. "I want to walk and not run, I want to skip and not fall". To sip and not gulp. To puddle hop and not race from lot to doors, cursing the weather for not cooperating with my agenda.

Slow. Deep breath. Exhale. Let life happen, not flash before my eyes. To that end I aspire. To shed this convention imposed chain mail and wrap my arms in cotton and wellie my feet and walk on.

Wanderingly yours,
Jen

6 comments:

Brian Miller said...

the smell of rain, the taste of sun...i do love to wander...such a peaceful life...

Mary Aalgaard said...

You know you can march along slowly to your heart's desire, one step at a time. You'll be there, and you'll also have made an incredible journey. It's the restlessness in our souls that tells us that the journey is not yet over.

Write on! Carry on! Create and dream.
Mary

Sandi Delia said...

A lesson from someone in my past that I've never forgotten: If you want the things of the world, you will speed up. If you want the things of Spirit, you will slow down.

Here's to Slow!

Michelle Gregory said...

"A little patch of land, a garden for my flowers and veg. Several sets of hooves, a cackle of hens. These, yes these are me."

these are me, too. though i live in the city, i'm a country girl at heart.

beautiful.

Kittie Howard said...

I was born in the city but grew up in the country, where my heart lingers. Where slow is not only good but progress that works. (Note last two words, as opposed to speed that doesn't always work.)

Sandra said...

And this is why I do yoga -smile-.