Patchy

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Why not? Shall I compare thee to a spring day? Or a winter's night? You are all these. And throughout you are my autumn afternoon. Bright. Breezy. Warm. Promising. Relaxed. Blessed.

Drifting

Some days I feel like meditating all day. Sitting at a window watching the light arc across the sky from sunrise to sunset. Or at least from the time I get up until sunset.

I wonder what this means. Am I escaping ordinary life or flying into a spiritual plane? Avoiding creative expression or connecting to a higher self? Actually, I'm doing neither because I think about it. I don't actually do it. The meditating.

Still, something calls me to a deeper practice, a more committed practice, a more active practice. I am a thinker. I tend to think a lot before doing. I like to be clear on intention and implementation before I begin. I suspect this may be a chicken-and-egg situation. I won't fully know what to do until I do it.

In the meantime, I have a sporadic practice. My standard meditation time is now 30 minutes. I journey once a month for 20-30 minutes. I consult the tarot and exercise my intuition. None of this happens in a disciplined way. It just happens.

Still thinking.

Moon phases

Half moon = half day, half night
Full moon = night
New moon = day

Missing something

Feel as though I ought to write something useful or serious before the end of the day. Can't think what though.

Details

There is time enough for everything under the sun.