Stones in my Bucket

I wrote this letter to a lovely creature this morning, and wanted to share parts of itI find myself in Hawai'i now, going through pieces of my life and planning ahead. I finally have a moment to breathe and reply to emails- whew.My different paths of passion come from the fact that I, like you, enjoy too much of the possibilities of life to say no to something that could fulfill me. I love it all- but one of the realities I am coming to face is that I am human, with human limitations and only 24 hours in each day. I'm actually spending the week here in Maui with my Guru, who is kicking my ass about setting lofty yet realistic goals about where to spend my energy.A tale to gnaw on:A teacher stood before his class with a bucket of larger rocks. The bucket was heavy, and as he held it up and let his students examine it, he asked "is this bucket full."His students said, oh yes!So the teacher pulled out a box full of small pebbles and started pouring them into the bucket, between the spaces of the large rocks. He then asked his students "is the bucket full now?""Oh definitely."So the teacher pulled out a box of sand, and started pouring it into the bucket, and it filled in the spaces between the pebbles. He then asked his students "now is the bucket full?""Most assuredly!"So he pulled out a large bottle of water and poured it in as well...Now is the bucket full?My problem has been that I've been starting with the pebbles, sand and water, and I haven't had enough chances to look honestly at these large rocks of opportunity to see where they could fit into my life if I planned in the right order. If I made different decisions. So I am currently deconstructing a LOT of my choices. I am pulling everything out of my bucket and seeing what I really want to do. How I can live authentically rather than just enthusiastically. How I can give best to the world and in return to myself. And its being a struggle.I do a thousand things well. But I have decided I am not a slave to my own whims any more- I work for Bear, and my needs for slavery are fed there. I will always follow passion fully... but slavery with no focus, no reason, always hit home with my through this Erica Jong poem:http://www.ericajong.com/poems/alcestis.htmAlcestis on the Poetry Circuit(In Memoriam Marina Tsvetayeva, Anna Wickham, Sylvia Plath, Shakespeare¹s sister, etc., etc.)The best slavedoes not need to be beaten.She beats herself.Not with a leather whip,or with stick or twigs,not with a blackjackor a billyclub,but with the fine whipof her own tongue& the subtle beatingof her mindagainst her mind.For who can hate her half so wellas she hates herself?& who can match the finesseof her self-abuse?Years of trainingare required for this.Twenty yearsof subtle self-indulgence,self-denial;until the subjectthinks herself a queen& yet a beggar --both at the same time.She must doubt herselfin everything but love.She must choose passionately& badly.She must feel lost as a dogwithout her master.She must refer all moral questionsto her mirror.She must fall in love with a cossackor a poet.She must never go out of the houseunless veiled in paint.She must wear tight shoesso she always remembers her bondage.She must never forgetshe is rooted in the ground.Though she is quick to learn& admittedly clever,her natural doubt of herselfshould make her so weakthat she dabbles brilliantlyin half a dozen talents& thus embellishesbut does not changeour life.If she's an artist& comes close to genius,the very fact of her giftshould cause her such painthat she will take her own liferather than best us.& after she dies, we will cry& make her a saint.© Erica Mann Jongthe rest of the email was personal and is thus cut from the post