It’s 10:30 in the morning. Already my mind is frazzled, splintered into little pieces here and there. My thoughts are darting everywhere, trying to synchronize my day, my life. Many what ifs are popping into my awareness. I recogize that I’m catastrophizing. I’m tapping to put a stop to the flow.concentrating.on.one.word.at.a.time. I’m not giving it space to grow.
The sun is casting its cool weak beams over the dreariness of our landscape. A scatter of fine snow made a brief appearance. It is a late spring. I’m slowly tending to my seedlings. The rest of the kohlrabi are transplanted. I’m starting on the broccoli. The tomatoes, peppers, cukes, squash and the petunias are growing like weeds. They don’t make too much demands – just a little water and maybe a touch of 20-20-20 fertilizer now and then. As to what kind of spring and summer we will have, it is out of my control. I will adjust as best as I can. There is no point in hoping. Hoping without doing is useless.
My mind is less chaotic, slowing down with each tap and a sip of tea in between. I breathe, sip, and tap. I will stop my flow of thoughts now and listen to a bit of Caroline Myss. I’ll let her whip me into shape. She’ll tell me to stop and put my head in the toilet for 7 minutes. That’ll cool it off.
Hooray, I’m back, calmer and cooler! I’ve had lunch, too. That helps alot, especially since it’s leftover turkey. Turkey is supposed to contains lots of tryptophan which in turn boosts your serotonin level to make you happy. I hear that it’s a myth, but I still like to believe it. I have my present mood as a proof. Doing things one at a time also slows my frenetic brain. I’m learning to respect my body and mind. I can’t take on many tasks, issues, activities, people. The list goes on and on. I’m made to live a small life, a life on an index card, in a one-inch frame, a life in the present moment. I am happy with that. It fills my plate.
It is Sunday. The sun just decided to come out. Hooray! Better late than not at all.
The house is bathed with aromas of fresh baked cinnamon buns. Sometimes they can chase away the shadows of a cloudy rainy day. Sheba is barking up a storm. She gets to go outside. It’s wonderful to enjoy the aroma and sunshine in the quiet. Life does not need to be complicated or hard.
I sit in joy of this moment, breathing in the aroma of my baking, taking pride of my creativity and steadfastness. Life is good.
Saturday. The laundry is washed, dried, folded and put away. My bread is in the oven. Sheba is underfoot, of course. I send her out with a bone. She is happy. Life does not need to be hard.
That is what I am learning today. Life does not have to be hard. You put one foot in front of the other. You take a step. You reach out, if you can, and touch someone. You breathe in and out. You stay and live in this moment because that is all that is open to you. And it is good….living in the moment.
It is another overcast day. The greyness wraps itself around my shoulders. It seeps through my pores, clouding me, slowing me. I do not let it drag me down. I hear the traffic whooshing down Preston Avenue. Life is busy as usual and I must move with it, however I can, as best as I can.
It’s a good time to get into the moment, this moment, the present moment. I have been listening to Jon Kabat-Zinn, a professor of medicine, an expert on stress and mindfulness. Something he said in his book, Coming to Our Senses, twigged something within me. We have the five senses of seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, and touching. But how aware are we of them?
I often turn a blind eye to many things, a deaf ear to the sounds around me. I try not to feel, afraid of the unknown. I eat to fill my stomach, not savoring or discerning the different tastes of food. My nose wakes up only to the pungent odours. I am ‘out to lunch’ too much.
On this day, I am coming back to my senses. I am trying to come back home to me. I am staying here to feel the grey. It does not hurt me. I see the sun trying to come through the layers of grey. All is well with the universe. I stay here in this moment, to feel the wind on my cheek, to smell the fragrance of the rose, to hear the birds sing and to taste the raindrops on my tongue.