In the morning quiet, there is an ebb and flow of thoughts and feelings. The incense stick fragrance comforts but also tells me time is running out. The sense of urgency to DO rather than BE so overwhelming that it suffocates, and yet I still force myself to sit. To be. To take it in, to slow the mind down, to not go on to the next thing, to not become so task focused that I lose sight of my vision. Yet there is also an undercurrent of sadness and grief that I dare not expose. Acknowledging that pain feels dangerous like I am naked, and no protection,
The morning quiet looms, and flashes of so much to do races through my mind, but I wonder what’s the point of checking off one more to do item. What is the point? The mind continues to race past the station of awareness. Stopping at the pain not an option. Diving into the sadness and loneliness feels like self-pity. And so I watch the incense burn away just like dawn, and light comes into the room, hiding my pain.
The hands tremble as I write the Morning Pages, and I try to envision my Artist Date, and it feels as if I am stuck in a life of pretense and pretend that all is well while the mind and heart swirl in indecision, and fear of failure. Each moment, a struggle to understand this moment in my life, how i get here. Then the morning light hits, the darkness recedes from the house, and as the room brightens so do my thoughts and feelings.
The house fills with small noises, the dog jumping off the bed, her paws clicking on the hardwood floors. In the distance, the garbage trucks beeps as it picks up cans. Muffled chirps from birds. All seems right, yet the mind churns and churns. The deep pain streams inside, but for the moment, the morning quiet brings a quietness inside, and another day starts. I sit there, taking it all in, then a deep breath and begin another 24 hours.