It is late February in a winter without winter.
Five years ago, when I retired from a job in which I worked 70-80 hours per week for 26 years, I was “burnt out” – a polite way of saying I had severe depression. The “retirement job” I began then was for 50 hours per week with two hours on Sundays. I maintained this until recently when I began to calculate the time I might have left in my life to do something worthwhile and creative. So I made a plan to cut my “day job” to two and one half days per week. The rest of the time is for building relationships among people and organizations and – for me to breathe.
Part of this new freedom is being able to reestablish a regular study of the Lemurian Philosophy which keeps me on a positive track. I began my Lemurian studies in 1983 but with my heavy schedule, regular study slowly slipped away and, in fact, I had not studied in an organized way in a long while. Struggling back to weekly study late last year led to rebuilding my enthusiasm for daily study.
I restarted studying Lesson One early this year. Daily study, particularly of this lesson, lets me recall the old excitement of my past, studying each lesson and anxiously awaiting the arrival of the next. Concepts that I had let drift below my horizon are returning like old friends not seen in years. As I reread them, their significance returns and I sense new meaning beyond past perceptions – a deepening understanding of the Lemurian Philosophy and a deepening appreciation of life. As I write this now, my cat is stationed in her corner of my worktable, dozing in the warmth of a southern morning sunbeam. She has inspected the pages in front of me and feels I’m capable of pursuing my work.
In the garden below, multiple variations of daffodils are standing tall, the crocuses are gone, paperwhites are out in full, yellow jasmine is building to a peak, the pink and violet hyacinths are on parade, the rose canes are showing early leaf, pink buds display tiny purple spots along its woody stems where its blossoms will unfold, the dogwood buds are just cracked, guarding their petals for later. Life is good.
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