No truer words were spoken. But I won't bore you with the particulars, the checklist of tasks undertaken and delivered within mind-squeezing deadlines. No, that would just sound like I'm arrogant and self-important, overly ambitious, and foolishly over-extended I might add. Don't wish to embarrass myself that way. Suffice it to say I have been cranking out and delivering for the little school, for the wider community, while I try to understand where all this is heading for me personally.
Meanwhile, I can take away great satisfaction in jobs I've executed on time and to my high standard. But after so much output, I feel like a sponge that has been wrung out. I'm in some sort of post car crash haze.
WTF? Where am I?
The lyrics of a Chris Whitley song drift into my consciousness and describe my mood perfectly…
"…out on the edge of some canyon
where I just forget and you can't recall
no you can't recall…"
Grey matter. Fog cover.
Haze.
where I just forget and you can't recall
no you can't recall…"
Grey matter. Fog cover.
Haze.
Clouds streak the cobalt sky in tractor-wide trails of cottony fluff. Billowy streaks, deliberate channels then bleed into smoky dissipated edges like some runny watercolor. Partially defined. Partially blurry. Blue. White. Blending. Lightening the blue. Illuminating the white. A bit of both.
I sit, focusing on my perch.
Focus eludes me.
Am I centered, or moving? Active or silent?
I wait for a sign. The steady movement of the stair-climber acts as a distraction.
I have been that one, racing up the stairs, heart pounding, pushing as fast as I can, determined to challenge my body, my time, my productivity. I've used the stairs to burn fat, to harden thighs, to breathe deeply, sweat, center. It feels good. It brings clarity. Momentum. Purpose even. And now, I sit watching him. Observing that method calmly, resolutely, immobile. It is one way. It is one practice.
Yet somehow the stillness, now possible by his exit, also feels good. Another kind of practice.
So much can be lost in the movement. So too, much can be lost in only stillness. There it is. Two truths. Lying side-by-side.
I usually know what I want and go after it. I am fairly clear on my opinions about things. Not lately. Mostly I feel a bit numb, dazed, no compass needle pointing the way.
I won't move until I know where I'm going. Without clarity, I'm not moving. So, race your races, good you know where you're going.
Me? I'll just be sitting here, taking in the view for a while, recharging after navigating a political and territorial pissing ground, grateful for a respite. Waiting for next steps, which haven't presented themselves yet.
In the meantime my dance card, as they say, is fully punched.
I sit, focusing on my perch.
Focus eludes me.
Am I centered, or moving? Active or silent?
I wait for a sign. The steady movement of the stair-climber acts as a distraction.
I have been that one, racing up the stairs, heart pounding, pushing as fast as I can, determined to challenge my body, my time, my productivity. I've used the stairs to burn fat, to harden thighs, to breathe deeply, sweat, center. It feels good. It brings clarity. Momentum. Purpose even. And now, I sit watching him. Observing that method calmly, resolutely, immobile. It is one way. It is one practice.
Yet somehow the stillness, now possible by his exit, also feels good. Another kind of practice.
So much can be lost in the movement. So too, much can be lost in only stillness. There it is. Two truths. Lying side-by-side.
I usually know what I want and go after it. I am fairly clear on my opinions about things. Not lately. Mostly I feel a bit numb, dazed, no compass needle pointing the way.
I won't move until I know where I'm going. Without clarity, I'm not moving. So, race your races, good you know where you're going.
Me? I'll just be sitting here, taking in the view for a while, recharging after navigating a political and territorial pissing ground, grateful for a respite. Waiting for next steps, which haven't presented themselves yet.
In the meantime my dance card, as they say, is fully punched.
3 comments:
"Be still, and know that I am God." That is my mantra these days. And not God "up there" but right here, IN me, my real me.
Be still.
KNOW that I am God/divine/holy/spirit, what-have-you.
Yes, I thought to myself, her soul is moving her and that's why she doesn't 'know' where she's going. Good sign, actually. Just keep engaging where you find yourself engaging. In time it will become 'clear.'
Good to have a view, that's what I say.
May the skies in your life be as beautiful as the skies in these photographs.
Seriously, T. When you're truly ready, the next steps will appear. You, who are such an astute observer, will see and follow them. This I know.
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