A Break from the Surface
I have a blue-gray kitty laying on a sheepskin rug and plant leaves dancing to the beat of a ceiling fan. I have story cards papering my wall and a small stack of notebooks filling up. I have extra blueberries and granola begging for another cup of coffee to wash them down.
It feels like I should send a light flare soon but I'm still in the deep. Sometimes I can make myself say something, like diligently chewing and swallowing even though one's appetite is gone.
Still here. It looks like stillness on the outside but inside I am simmering and swirling and just hoping you can wait for me. I can't get to the depth without giving myself a break from the surface.
I am finding the songs that unlock my mind like keys. I am communing with memories and ghosts and making sure the teens wake by noon. I am at my desk, on the mat, looking out from the rooftop and waving at neighbors on our streets.
I am reading the news and watching what feels like a house of cards collapsing in slow motion.
I am riding the waves of energy and humidity. I am hot and cold all night in a love/hate dance with air conditioning.
The words of friends keep me afloat and I gather my own words to be a small raft for someone else.
That's how generosity works.
All things considered, I'm a miracle right now but it looks like being an ordinary person whose weekly chores feel like they were just done yesterday, not eight days ago. It looks a lot like being a mom (or sometimes, a maid) but I'm deep-sea diving in all my in-betweens. I'm finding good things down there.