I’ve been feeling out of sorts lately. I can’t place my finger on it but it feels like my soul has withdrawn from me. I don’t quite know what that means but it is very quiet down there.
Spring is in full bloom. The sun is out, the flowers are awake, and the trees sashay to the sound of the wind. The scent of freshly cut grass wafts through the air and the air itself feels different. It feels free and eager to erupt in singing. Winter’s chill is gone and I can finally put away that dreadful pile of jackets.
“What is this?”, I continually ask myself and God. I am sometimes at a loss for the will to create, to write. And yet when I do I know it is true. I find that now I let good and bad writing flow into each other, as long as it feels true. As long as it is true. Good and bad here, now, have become miscible and have formed a rich shade of gray.
But perhaps this is what love feels like. After the euphoria is gone and the crowd has dispersed. After the newness has fizzled away and all that is left is the quiet rhythm of ordinary life. The challenge then becomes loving the ordinary. Sitting in content silence while the fridge hums and the clock ticks.
To love and be so sure of that love that has built a magnificent castle and yet want to sit in the embrace of the ordinary.
I, even you, may be guilty of wanting to cram things into each waking moment. Don’t. Life, being what it is, sometimes forces you to sit still by its sheer will. And I would lose if I tried to wrestle with it. Fall into the ordinary and love where you land.
Inhale. Exhale. Eyes open, heart ready to love not the wonders of the world but the corners of my home that have become so familiar and grown nearly invisible. I fall into it.