Hello, you 11-15 readers, from the blogoress.

Now you see it, now you don't.

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 ponders.

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.


16 thoughts on “Hello, you 11-15 readers, from the blogoress.

  1. Kathy, I so appreciate the beauty of this quiet place. Even the times when your thought and words have nudged me into places within myself that haven’t always been comfortable, places where I’ve been ready to go but quietly resisting. It’s a beautiful gift that you share with so much love. My heart overflows with gratitude and appreciation…..

    • Oh, Colleen, that is lovely. I so appreciate that you are a person that honors those places which haven’t always been comfortable. That you are not a door-slammer on places which cause discomfort. You make me want to share more. I love the spirit which dances around and through you.

      • Thank you Kathy, I’ve learned the harder the door is slammed closed, the greater the shove that next pushes it open. Without fail!

        I am so happy to hear you say you might want to share more here 🙂

  2. This is one of my favorite blogs. It is peaceful here, and even when it’s not, it leads to a sense of truth, purpose, or peace.

    I don’t comment much here. Mostly, I sit in meditation and get bonked on the head by the occasional acorn.

    • Why, Robin, I sincerely thank you. I don’t mind that you don’t comment. I mean, the blogoress does not mind. It isn’t necessary here. But you, like all the others who have commented today, make me want to write more.

  3. Dear Kathy and trees and blogoress and peace: You are VERY important in my life. Please know that. You’re like a phone call to a sister, instead of the regular, ordinary people in my life. A sister with our shared past, and “our family.” You are very precious. You nourish and support and inspire me, and to whatever extent I can return that, I am delighted.
    And you are loved by

    • Dearest OM, thank you. This blog teaches me all the time. It teaches me the value of a small number of readers. It teaches that like-minded friends can gather to picnic outside beneath the trees, even if the acorns are falling from the oak tree like they did during our son’s graduation party, pelting all the guests. (There was an infestation of worms eating tree leaves that year, too, and the worms fell on the guests, too. The guests were more alarmed with the worms than the acorns.) My heart leapt up to the top of the oak tree to read your comment and is still sitting there, basking in the sunlight of you.

  4. I echo all those sentiments too, Kathy.

    I don’t often comment on this blog, but I do love these gentle pauses… you have such a way of capturing the minutiae (is that a word?) of life, time passing, subtle shifts in emotions and thoughts. ‘Capturing’ may be too restrictive though – it’s more as though your words nudge things, emotions, thoughts, into being in us, your readers.

    You see, this is why YOU are writing this blog, rather than me…

    I love it here, acorns falling down and everything.

    It’s de-light-ful. 🙂

    • Gentle pauses…yes…they evoke a certain feeling beyond the every day movements of going here & there without moving deeply into the moments. I love trying to capture essence in words, but like you said “capture” isn’t quite it. It’s like painting essence in words and then using the canvas to sail our ship through a midnight sea. LOL! I adore you, Reggie.

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