Simply Here, yours truly, this blog, is now celebrating its 83rd post.
(Eighty three being an auspicious spiritual number.)
(LOL–it is not. I made that up. Mostly because ALL numbers are spiritual numbers and 83 seemed a good number to express that sentiment.)
This blog has experienced 838 comments, most of them made by the authoress (or blogoress, to claim a new term. Please use it freely from now on.)
It experiences between 11-15 hits per day. It is a simple blog. It does not wish to attain greatness. It wishes to express itself and turn toward the next moment. It does not fuss. It does not care. The blogoress doesn’t even bother to check statistics, except when she has a spare moment with nothing else to Do. It has 26 loyal followers. (After publishing a blog, the hits can rise into the 30’s, like a sunrise, like a new day, like the feeling you have when you follow life into a new possibility.)
Yesterday this blog had an earthquake. Twenty three hits! Can you imagine? Three weeks after the last blog had been published? Most of the readers want to know about the Forest. The blogoress must have written a commentary about a forest moment, and seekers near and far who love the forest come to sit beneath the virtual trees and ponder.
(These 23 hits sparked a 101.25% increase in stats! Can you imagine?)
So far, there have been 9,926 hits during its twenty months of existence.
My other blog, Lake Superior Spirit–gosh, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned The Other One on these pages–mostly describes my outer life. This blog gently expresses the inner life. Or, better stated, it expresses a rising moment which combines the inner and outer worlds.
This blog sometimes whispers in lyrical metaphors. It has one-lined headlines. It doesn’t lure readers. It doesn’t care if readers come or go. It is itself. (Blogs that care about readers and lure with headlines are themselves, too. They just carry different work into the world.)
This blog sings in the shower, where few hear.
It expresses itself and welcomes comments, but doesn’t need them.
It can sit silent for weeks without caring, and then babble like a brook.
It can speak of non-duality and then attempt to describe a moment before memorializing past teachers and wander in the forest.
It is itself.
Thank you, dear quiet blog, for existing in the blogoress’s life.
Thank you, dear reader, for pausing here beneath a tree and listening.