Monday, and a week into Advent. A lousy night’s sleep and a cold, wet morning. A cup of coffee in a teacup this morning. I’d pulled the cup from the cupboard thinking it would be nice to hold in my hands: warm ceramic with steaming coffee. You get the picture. But that’s not reality. The coffee cools too fast with such a wide surface.
The photo editor keeps freezing, locking my WordPress site.
It’s one of those mornings where my mind wants to focus on the small events that I can put in the column of “wrong”. I got up on the wrong side of the bed.
I put a few drops of Rosemary in the burner on my desk. Take a deep breath, and imagine my spine is in the center of my body, not behind me. My shoulder’s drop.
I need more coffee. I need a run. I need.
Another deep breath.
I need wool socks.
Another deep breath. I should give up and go sit on my cushion in the other room, and let my morning catch up with my mind that keeps running out in front of the moment, arms waving like a muppet. Or rather, I should sit until the muppet realizes there’s no reason to panic.
It’s been a week since I’ve been on the mat. I’ve been giving my shoulders time to heal. But there is a fine line between rest and stasis. My joints are stiff and unfamiliar. I need to move.
This ridiculous teacup is useless for coffee.
Another abandoned bicycle in the park. At least no one threw this one into the creek. I could take a picture a day with all of the bicycles that people “borrow” and abandon in this small town. This morning I wonder who will be late for school because someone slightly high saw the bicycle on the dark veranda last night.
Or maybe it was personal.
I check the mailbox, to find it crushed on one side. Maybe the neighbor’s visitor Saturday night backed their car into it turning around in our shared driveway.
Maybe it was personal.
I think that my mind has been putting events in the “wrong” column for a while now – as habit. Tipping the scales and freaking out my little muppet accountant: Aargh!
The world is an unpredictable place. Things go missing. Things pop up unexpectedly.
Leonard tugs in his harness, smelling a hedgehog in the holly bush. My shoulder is shot through with cold and sharp.
It’s the consequence of mindlessly clinging to things.
On such a sharp morning I long for the roundness of a teacup. Even when it makes no sense at all.
My meditation cushion is filled with small, giving shapes that collectively conform to whatever shape they meet. Like my butt.
Butt on the mat. But first: wool socks on my feet. And maybe another cup of – hot – coffee. Another attempt to distract the muppet from everything that goes “wrong”. With a tick on the “right” column: resuming routine.
Putting the muppet in a time out corner while this body moves through Warrior one, two and reverse…
There’ll be plenty of time I’ll catch up with Monday.