I’m not sleeping well; I awaken at dawn each morning with worries swirling around my head. I can’t will myself to turn-off the noise. So this morning I relent, turn on the light, pull out my journal. I know, in my writing, I find solace; I'd almost forgotten that.
What really matters amidst all this disruption? I write at the top of the page.
I have to keep asking myself – trying to connect to my body and heart-spirit for answers. In all the craziness, those parts of me seem to have vanished. Then all that’s left is fat-headed me running in circles on my pair of brum-brum legs getting nowhere fast!
That’s me.
Pant, pant, pant. How many loops can I make? Faster, faster!
No, STOP! I command myself.
Stopping in my tracks, I inhale, exhale. Close my eyes. Feel the breath up the length of my body, through the root , to the belly, into the lungs, heart, collarbones, up up up and out the crown of my head.
Blinking my eyes open, I feel a little more space. And it hits me: I'm leading this virtual workshop on embodied business in less than two weeks; but I’ve abandoned my own body.
Squeeze my arms, feel the warmth of my skin in the grip of my hands, wriggle my chilly toes, feel the ground beneath me.
Ahh, I’m back. I'm here.
That’s what matters!
Not floating, flying, caught-up in the Wall Street market storm, the social distancing freeze, the politics of power and bailouts, the swirling unknown.
Tears sting my eyes, pain stabs my heart. Yes, I’m feeling the loss of my portfolio, watching little bits of my hard work, small percentages of my paychecks, socked away since age 22, fizzle to nothing.
But more than the money, I’m feeling the LOSS of ME.
How can I be here for others if I am not here for myself?
How can I make clear decisions if my energy is scattered on the wind, if I’m not taking time each day for THIS – this grounding, reflection, presence. Only then can I go deeper into the question – because, over the noise, I can hear the answer, and it will have meaning.
What matters to me is starting each day this way, with my breath, my body, my words on the page.
A post a day keeps the coronaviras away.
And in that space I'll notice the magnolia up the block in full and glorious bloom.
What matters to you?
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