Restless agitated nights, strange dreams that are not quite nightmares…stiff sore joints, fatigue, unimaginably intense emotions…impatient with drama, but removed; more uninterested than unable…and so few words. I’m not feeling moved to write, much, and even talking feels a bit forced and ‘necessary’ more than pleasant. Strange quiet days. I want to spend more time meditating; real life isn’t leaving much room for it in my days.
Things aren’t bad, I simply don’t have much bandwidth for more than being, right now. Work is good. Relationships take more work than I’d like – or expect. I still work on letting go of expectations; they are a big driver of discontent and drama.
Spring is coming. Soon I’ll be 51. A year, already? Wow. So little time to enjoy the many enjoyable things, so little time to sit on mistakes and watch them fester into hurt and resentment, so little time to overlook the small gestures that really mean ‘love’, so little time to pause in stillness and observe… so many things to choose, because they have value, and so many things that can be chosen that provide nothing of value…I hope I choose wisely.
…I’ve got to be getting back to that.
Spring in my garden.
Evening Light 