I’m in the midst of a vacation. It’s been just long enough for me to have put aside some of the compulsion to “do” and rest in the spaciousness of the seascape. The house we rent is by a meadow rather than the sea but trees, meadow, and the Manuel F. Correllus State Forest abutt the house and provide a green, leafy panoramic view from our windows. We walk with our dog Zeke most evenings around the perimeter of the meadow alongside a field of high grass where turkeys and skunks sometimes reside. There is much to sniff and see and it is ever-changing. As we walk I feel peace and timelessness which counters the changes in our bodies. I don’t like the fact that we’ve all slowed down but I let myself soak in the beauty and give thanks it’s possible to walk and to be here and have the sense(s) to take it in.

David and I often stop on the path and gaze upward. We marvel at the cloud formations and changing colors of the sky. Each day brings something new reflecting the effect of weather and time. Along one of the meadow's sides, someone has taken the time to copy and illustrate the poem “The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere.” which is posted in sections and protected by an acrylic sheet. The shininess of this material attracted bugs that splattered its surface. I wonder if this is a metaphor for my mind and my thoughts, sometimes clear and other times obscuring my ability to see clearly and be with what is here…just this. The meadow named “Nat’s Farm” is rectangular and on one side is a paved bicycle path that runs through the forest. We have a choice here, we can continue on the pavement until we meet the path of mowed grass that goes to our house or we can go a short way and walk along the path beside some bushes and trees that goes past a few other houses and then go down the short gravely road to our house.

These are simple decisions. There is no wrong way to go. In fact, as I write I realize most of the decisions we make here are simple but the process of deciding and what arises internally is no different than back in Worcester. This is a revelation. After all, we are on vacation. Shouldn’t I be in nirvana, blissful, fully content, and satisfied with whatever is the experience? Can “just this” be enough? Only this morning as I went to a local farm and waited in line to buy their delicious bread and croissants, I was disappointed. The cinnamon raisin that I wanted wasn’t baked today and the chocolate croissant I was hoping to savor was already sold out. On the other hand, I enjoyed being in line. It was fun to watch the children running exuberantly around and see Mom or Dad go after them and seem to enjoy themselves too. After I got a substitute bread, some carrots, and cucumber I followed the children and peeked into the barn myself to see the cow standing in a stall, “only one left” one of the children said, being readied to be milked. Then I met a friend from home in the parking lot who I had hoped to see and as she said hi to me a car behind her (this was a popular and busy place) honked at her and I heard, “What the f….?” Ah, just this—Life!

My mind doesn’t seem to be taking a vacation and vacating but I am appreciative that I have a mind and I am willing to observe it and be less caught by its conditioned reactions. I can pause and learn again and again what binds me, a sense of should and false expectations of how I want things to be and what is liberating. There are choices. I feel very fortunate. I love the ocean. I take out my paints and try to capture its dynamism. I am learning how wonderful it is to look and really see it, looking again and again for new elements of color form, and shape that is hard to capture on canvas. Everything is really always changing and my mind/body/heart is not excluded from this process. The sea continues as tides come and go. I berate myself less and am grateful more. Just this. It is enough…more of the time.