Muddy Morning Introspection
Today is gray and sleepy and slow. I didn't want to wake, but I rose to Dale's gentle tickle and soft voice. It's easiest to rise with or shortly after him. I am much less delicate and more ready to put my feet up in the bay window and begin. My world has no order when I wake past nine or ten a.m. I'm often confused and heavy and could break at any random moment. Funny how I never saw myself as a morning person, but I've grown quite in love. Its sweet and light, and if you listen closely, you'll hear Mother whisper that all is well.
Some mornings, I believe her. Others, I sit in utter disbelief that x amount of time has passed and that x problem has yet to be ironed out. And sometimes, I wonder if there ever comes a point where one thinks, "Yes. I've arrived." I do believe that if you remain open, those moments happen frequently in your journey, but what if there's one particular feeling or goal at which you never find yourself arriving? What then? Do you finally step back and realize it's not the path you really want to be following? Or perhaps you understand what kind of work that feeling or goal requires and realize you're too lazy. Or hell...you fear you aren't capable.
At this very moment in my life, I feel disjointed. I feel my spirit moving quickly as the rest of me lingers behind not ready or not willing. I envision such a different space for myself. I desire that wild connection to Source. I see a woman creating in abundance, crafting poetry and projects in line with her spirit. Open. Whole-hearted. Spiritual. Wild. Inspiring. I don't know how to take what I have in my brain and make it lucrative or desired or known or fucking tangible. My creative genius is clawing at the back of my sternum, pleading with me to let her out. When I get to this point and realize why I've felt uncomfortable and borderline ill for a month, I know exactly what I need to do: have sex, take an adventure, tune out to tune in, paint my toenails, write a poem, do an hour of yoga, and stop the mind chatter.
Instead, my ego says, "Guess what, bitch. You're two weeks behind on your work because your hard drive crashed. You need to finish all of that, do data entry for the year so far, pay your quarterly tax, call about that dead tree in your yard, call about getting your septic pumped, and sit and worry about how you don't have enough money for a few hours even though that never solves anything, but you do it anyway."
The difference between those two lists is astounding!
Then, when I sigh about my first list while laughing at my sassy ego, I bring myself back to breath and birds and the beads of rain on my newly stained deck and this warm cup of coffee. As I drink down half of my water, a cool curtain rises behind my morning-crusted eyes and I'm suddenly aware of my aliveness and its truth that change is inevitable and that I should and always will be a witness to my presence on earth.