Monday, January 8, 2018
It’s that wonderful rain keeping me company this morning. That and my cat Jeffery who is thrilled I am still on the couch, sorting the days tasks. The rain is that soft, constant veil that promises to take care of things for the day. The kind that inspires poetry, large pots of stew and sorting through the “when I have time” pile of life.
I am fortunate today to be able to take my houseplants outside for a dose of “real” watering and to have a few moments to listen to the cheeky birds in the neighbors tree; a cafe filled with rainy day patrons atop branches, chattering.
I try to take in these moments and look for them every day because I am always sure that in a single, unheaded breath, I will lose my heart and the tearing sound it will make will drown all this out. My heart will lose someone I love. I don’t know who, but I do know that nothing else would tear as swiftly or as truly. I am sure it comes with life, being a parent, worrying about all the things I can’t control and knowing that, like all good stories, life constantly promises both beauty and pain.
Sometimes, I don’t even know what it is that is bothering me, until I am woken by my 2am secretary of life and she reminds me that I don’t have control...so this could happen...this thing...or that. So, I breathe into the darkness, smiling at the thought that I have an efficient secretary who has reminded me to let go. That ultimately I cannot control the end result, other people or outcomes. I flick on the light and write my list of things I can control and, having dispelled the fear monster to the dark corner of my closet, I sleep.
So, when my day begins swathed in tenderness pinging on leaves and into puddles, I settle back into this moment. Just this one. I take this smile and the touch of God, of spirit in this moment and know my worry is just one... single... raindrop... amid so many, now washing the dust from the leaves and lost in puddles.