This week I was a stranded fish.
Time and tasks rolled me onto the shore where I couldn't catch a calm breath; where everything is a struggle, and even though I know that overwhelm is part of this Bringing Dreams To Life process, it gets to me. No big problem has caused this, it's more that I lost focus and perspective after doing housework instead of writing, but I don't want to live in a disgusting mess all of the time.
If you've been following my year, you will probably know this pattern. You will know that I just need a minute, then I'm back to swimming and laughing. It is a pattern, it has a repeat.
So, dear Reader, where are you? In the flow, on the shore, caught in a current?
I am not so caught up that I don't think of you, I just forget to tell you that. But if you listen to the water, to the wind, to the shuffle of the sand, the twist of a leaf- here we all are. We are not isolated, not separated. We are the flow. We reach under the surf, under the dirt and debris, and here we are. Here we are with our kindness and our care, drop by drop adding up, all the labels soaked out of us; weighted to a common, uncommon level.
We are in the deep and glowing.
Time and tasks rolled me onto the shore where I couldn't catch a calm breath; where everything is a struggle, and even though I know that overwhelm is part of this Bringing Dreams To Life process, it gets to me. No big problem has caused this, it's more that I lost focus and perspective after doing housework instead of writing, but I don't want to live in a disgusting mess all of the time.
If you've been following my year, you will probably know this pattern. You will know that I just need a minute, then I'm back to swimming and laughing. It is a pattern, it has a repeat.
So, dear Reader, where are you? In the flow, on the shore, caught in a current?
I am not so caught up that I don't think of you, I just forget to tell you that. But if you listen to the water, to the wind, to the shuffle of the sand, the twist of a leaf- here we all are. We are not isolated, not separated. We are the flow. We reach under the surf, under the dirt and debris, and here we are. Here we are with our kindness and our care, drop by drop adding up, all the labels soaked out of us; weighted to a common, uncommon level.
We are in the deep and glowing.
Wind blowing through the grass, Paddock Garden, bottom field.
Comments
And thanks for that moment of Zen with the wind in the paddock. The same wind blows here, with the same air, and the land itself was once one land, before our continents drifted apart. But we all sail the same sea, and seek both new vistas and safe harbors, and I hope you've recouped and have your sea legs under you again, with the wind filling your sails.