I am writing to write this morning. I have no clear idea or agenda on my mind. I feel the pressure of the time crunch I created by not getting up around 5:00 or 5:15 this morning. I could have even done more if I had simply got moving by 5:30. But it was 6:00 am before I truly got rolling.
There was an interesting thought in one of my core meditative books today. Every time we think the Creator, or the Universe is testing us, it is not. We are testing ourselves. So then, does that mean when life has thrown the curveball and we are struggling, we’re trying to teach ourselves a lesson of some sort? I don’t know the answer to that, and that worries me a little about the slippery slope of we individuals being the Creator or the Universe, rather than merely a part of a much larger existence.
I discovered like food, and my theory on last bites—the last one being often the best, that there is an optimum temperature for tea too. I love my blackberry sage tea, but this morning as the sky slowly brightens, my tea slowly cools, and there is a pleasure in sipping it at that just right temperature. It feels good all the way down. Or, maybe that is the question within the book was asking today—to feel the moment whatever it is, all the way down to your core of being.
So quiet
The house and the world are so quiet at this point. I have my iTunes playing a list of mellow music. Every so often I hear a car engine rev or accelerate, but it is this stillness I love. I wonder why this has always been my favorite part of the day? I supposed there were those times on guard duty too (20 years ago)—between two and four am—where the world was so still, but like someone flipping a switch, life erupted so subtly and quietly.
In this light of the morning things just look different. The lights to ward away the darkness grow softer, almost pleasant—as opposed to their harshness during the night. The sky turns from gray to blue slowly. I long for the birds singing—but then I might be up a touch too early for them. All I can do is write, and think, and reflect—letting my fingers write the words that come to my mind. Now if I could only accomplish this with my academic writing.
I need headspace to write—I need to clear my head to tie things together in rough draft form—so I can then edit it. While I love to write, to let my fingers flow, I am not very good mechanically at writing or organization. Or perhaps that is too harsh of a self-criticism.
But, I do what I can. I write as fast as my fingers and thoughts can carry me. There is so much information to process, so much to convey, and so much to reflect upon—where is the time to just be, to think, and to organize my thoughts? That is what I long for—these quiet moments that stretch into long hours, not just a quick one where I have to run and do things. But work requires attention, and I always try to do my best with work—but am slowly realizing that I need to do what is best for my thinking too.
For now, this works for me. As I have been trying to reform habits, write more, and enjoy life this time is becoming sacred and necessary to me. While that is the challenge every day for me—I try to do, not just try.
But can my fingers keep up with the flow of my thoughts today, or any day?
