We were standing outside of the chicken coop. We had just lifted and moved several metal beams.
My friend, named Every Day, looked me in the eyes and smiled, "It's like we never left."
We had worked at Root Down Farm together last season, five months prior. Since, she had spent the winter season soaking in hot springs and tubs in a women's RV community in Arizona, and I'd moved to San Francisco where I had been working on new projects for four months.
But there, on the farm, working in harmony with our bodies and the landscape, it was agreed upon-- we'd never left.
"This," she said, "is presence. And when you are present, time is irrelevant." That’s the thing about being present, you never leave. We continued, laying out a new tarp to cover the chicken coop.
This moment hit me, and follows me. Indeed I've made it my challenge, or my dance, ever since to be Present.
We fill our minds up with so much drama. Riding our bike up a hill becomes a series of melodramas reading something along the lines of...
"Oh man I gotta pump up my tires" ... "Oh boy here we go" ... "Damn there is headwind" ... "Why'd I go this way" ... "I should get panniers" ... "My backpack is so heavy" ... And on And on And on it goes.
Perhaps this is the only noise you've ever known. Perhaps to you, this is being awake. Perhaps you know yet no other way of Being.
How does this melodrama of a bike ride change when we are present? When we are Here. Now. Always. Try for yourself. For me, it's hard to words, but is a little something like...
"I am biking" ... "Wind" ... "I Am" ... "I Am" ... "I Am" ... "La La La" ... "La La" ... "Ohm..."
Which could you listen to Every Day?