Timing is Everything

Wish I could start this post with, The Dogs are Back!  Alas, it isn't so.  It has been 10 days today and while part of me wants to remain positive, another part says, no way.  When they went missing for 9 days all those years ago, even though it was winter, they were younger dogs.  Younger and stronger.  Now they are both on arthritis supplements.   Jamaica especially carries no extra weight.  Jamaica is also on the special diet for a tender tummy, the hypoallergenic food so 'roughing it' just isn't in his lexicon.  But worse than that this is the Tweed.  It's rain forest and thus has many biting and bloodsucking insects; flies, mosquitoes, sand flies and especially leeches.  I have had two on me since we've been here and I wasn't wandering through the bush.  I can't see how two fine boned and finely fleshed dogs with little in the way of a protective coat can survive.

Other than that, and that's a big that, I am so grateful to be here.  Rang our ex-neighbours yesterday and heard the gut-wrenching news that the quarry is going ahead.  Trucks have been in and out, the rock crusher is coming and quarrying  is to start early next year.

Despite The Lost Dogs, the ups and downs of getting here, the doubts, the fear, the stress, ultimately I believed all was as it should be, that the timing was right and we were doing just as were supposed to do.  For a moment last night, when I was breathing in the night and gazing at the black silhouettes of The Sisters and Mt. Warning, even losing the dogs seemed a part of the greater whole and therefore part of the mysterious warp and woof of existence.  After all, they have their destinies to fulfill as well.  They could've chosen not to run away or to only run a little way and then come home.  They chose, for whatever reason, otherwise.  So, with this enveloping feeling of rightness, even the news of the quarry seemed to be part of the final look of the jigsaw. 

We were right after all.  All was, and is, as it should be and trusting in the process, in the rightness of being and timing, is the path to peace.  With or without wayward dogs.

"Right Now" I am taking refuge in the Towoomba City Library from a) the heat and b) more bush burning at home.  When I heard John was ging to burn the corridor across from Horrocks' where  two pheasant coucals and a whipbird live I got upset.  Again.  Useless to cry for what was going to happen.  Then hearing Peter Horrocks was going to burn the creek (which doesn't belong to him) gave rise to a real rant.

So, here I am; in the air conditioning (it's 36 in Mt. Whitestone, probably 32 here) with a full tummy from a Jilly's salad and with my caffeine levels topped up with a very bitter soycino.

Started reading Turning the Mind Into an Ally by Sakyong (which translates as Earth Protector) Mipham - which only goes to illustrate how much of an antagonist my mind is because of the suffering experienced BEFORE the burning even took place. 

Still one has to start somewhere.  I don't meditate every day, even when doing yoga there's usually an excuse I can find to postpone it.  Two to 4 times a week probably.  And the little I do and the inconsistency of it doesn't make for a mind I'm in control of.

This book will make a big difference.  After a rough start I'm pretty consistent with yoga because the benefits are so obvious and addictive.  I feel better.

Suspect that regular meditation will reap the same reward.

Beyond that -found The House, the Purple House (so called because of it's purple painted front facade and deck) which appeals to R and I.  Two hours from Brisbane which is its main drawback.  But nevertheless it's a winner.  100 acres at Lillian Rock between Kyogle and Murwillumbah.  $650,000.  Affordable.  Private.  Beautiful.  Even wrote to the realtor.  Who knows?  I do know we will find the best place for us.  I do know, or think I do, that it is time to leave DGR.  On the way home from the ride this morning (through burnt out overgrazed paddocks) saw men in fancy casual clothes and expensive 4 wheel drives - 3 of those - returning from a look at the quarry site.  It mght have a price tag of $9.5 million but some rich investor will buy it as a tax break and future investment.  Anyway the signs are there, from the quarry being on the market to endless torching of the bush to a proliferation of motorcycle traffic even to hoons doing donuts at the end of our driveway - and squealing as they did it - not the motorcycle engine but a chubby young man, squealing like a pig and so engrossed in making donuts he didn't see me standing there staring at him.

Another of the many symptoms of my untamed mind.  I judge all the time, form opinions all the time.  Catty things - just then a young woman, long blond hair pulled into a ponytail, black t-shirt and jean shorts, great bone structure, honey coloured skin - and obsese.  I make alot of silent judgements about obsese people.  Not how horrible they are but how sad.  But no matter whether it's catty or commiserative it's still a judgement call.

I don't experience reality as it is.

Wonder if they've finished burning yet.

Then there's a whole 'nother chapter titled Richard and the almost daily manifestations of his rapid aging (he's only 67!).  Forgetting things, dullness, not following through with a thought or action.  I'm starting to check up on him, make sure things are done properly -without him knowing.  This morning the flyveil  lay unwashed by the tap.  He'd taken it there and then forgot about it.  One of the feed buckets was still in the yard, the hot water tap was not turned off properly so that it dripped, the dishes were done but no counters were wiped (if I cook he does the dishes which as I'm doing almost all the cooking means he does the evening dishes all the time.  I do lunch.  He does breakfast).

Pen dying, time to quit - buy a new pen!