I’ve been going to bed earlier, and sleeping longer, and not doing a whole lot in between, or so it seems. Feels like I’m just kind of passing the days.

Maybe it’s because there’s not some big over-riding project, some obsession I’m tied to, like I was the last few years, so there’s not an obvious measuring stick to mark the progress, except by counting the biscottis and noting the pain — which has been unrelenting but at this point seems to me a natural part of the process — of recuperating from the move.

I think back a year ago, when I first damaged the tendon in my elbow, and both the doctor and the physical therapist warned me it would require three or four months of rest and non-use, followed by two more months of gentle movements before actually beginning mild workouts.

It’s only been three months, for something that involved much greater strain and exertion, and inflicted far more damage than the elbow injury, so no, I’m not surprised by or particularly concerned over the pain and the time it’s taking to heal.

Not even unpacked from the last one, and here I go again. Used to be like that all the time, when I was a road warrior, but I don’t travel all that much anymore, compared to the people who travel for their jobs, or ones who are in the gypsy phase of their life.

When I first began what I’m now calling “the P&P experiment,” which involved changing my manner of prayer and projection and observing the life-results, I recommitted myself to the long-held mantra of being here now. Everyone can pretty much agree with that one, but what occurs to me is, if being here now is what you truly aspire to, there is nowhere to go and nothing to do, so it makes it hard to determine if you’re getting there. Which is, maybe, just one more reason why being here now sounds easy but is hard.

We’re in changing times, on many levels, not the least of which is the change from summer to autumn. This comes on the heels of one topsy-turvy transitional time in my own personal life. A major change, involving not only a change of address, but a change in the way I think, and the things I say, and how I spend my time, and what I put my energy toward, and how I react and respond to things.

The last time I went through such a major change was five years ago, and what carried me through it, in a positive and fearless way, was my commitment to plunging into the heart of my heart, which revealed the power of the heart.

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I vividly remember the feeling and the indication of light that was cast before me, swirled around me, and swelled up inside me as I walked along the country road. I remember stretching out and asking myself, what would I be doing if money were not an issue. When I realized that at that moment I was doing just that. I congratulated myself for being part-way there.

I cannot remember one unsatisfactory consequence associated with choosing to trust the heart to carry me through, except that five years later, here I am again, dangling by another thread, and holding on to hope, though not as robustly.

As for the experiment, which I have earnestly, unemotionally and scientifically given myself to, after six or seven weeks now of consistent effort, the preliminary findings associated with this different way of thinking and behaving have not yielded significantly different results or outcomes in the instances where they were put to the test.

And since I’m finding it considerably less fun to not talk to angels and saints, and to not visualize light and color, and to not create things, and breathe life into them, and be passionate about them, I am now toying with the idea of starting to add some of that stuff back in as I arrive at my new place of personal truth and wisdom.

Ron Colone


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Ron Colone can be reached at ron.colone@gmail.com