I am maintaining, but it flows with more effort. How easy it is to form an expectation based on a magical moment. I try to write today’s entry like yesterday’s, but it feels dishonest. Some days will yield large gifts, and some days will yield small. I have to celebrate all of it.
There were things. Are things. The lava walkway is a deep blood red from yesterday’s rain. So lovely. And the spider web. An accidental encounter, but a sensual experience, enveloping me warmly. Not at all a hostile uninvited attack. And there was the sand. Yesterday’s excursion to the park. Lowering myself into the box for the first time, allowing myself to sit in the grit, among the sad sea of worn shovels and pails. At what point does sand become more of an irritation than a joyful encounter? I wish I could trace myself back to that moment. Yesterday, in the box I invited my daughter to pour sand over my legs. It tingled when it touched my skin, as did the spider web. I feel porous. More open.
Though working hard to maintain openness. How easy it is to close up. I seem to be developing some resilience however. Not unraveling at the site of mess. Not allowing chaos to enter into my consciousness. Staying within the whole that is right now. The process, not the end.
My daughter exists within process and it amazes me. She scoops and she pours. Scoops and pours. No goal. My teacher.
No comments:
Post a Comment