Soon after waking, I step onto my 5th floor balcony and into a cheerful summer morning: soothing blues above, emerald greens below, a jaunty breeze between them. My inner weather, however, serves something quite different. Darker. Definitely heavier. Decidedly turbulent.
“I don’t want to,” it declares. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to.”
Recalling a line from Best Christmas Pageant Ever (delivered when a family of uncivilized children crashes the church-basement rehearsals) I bemoan my moody sentiments:
“Where did they come from?! Who let them in?!”
Desperate to out-do, not un-do, myself, I trudge through the morning: journal writing, creative writing, decent food for breakfast. If I can just outlast myself! Nudge myself in the right direction—befriend myself and follow my own advice.
I wrench several more good deeds from the day, including a walk. Including an hour of reading. Including staring down horoscopes and assigning stories to the peculiar, encircled glyphs I see.
A week passes and I call it a day. While laying in bed, something begs for prayer: May I be as one reborn. May I be buoyant. May I be unchained and unpossessed. May I be permeable to passion, loving in service.
Next morning, half-way through a cup of coffee—journaling in the rear view mirror—a golden ray of sun reaches down and strokes my skin. My heart opens.
Ahhhh … contentment breaks at last!