It’s a strange thing—worry. That amidst the daily glorious manifestations of stunning beauty and mystery there is an underlying longing to understand the color of the sunset and just slightly beneath that feeling is the slightest pang of unrightness, the tiniest fear of ongoing angst.
How is it that I can’t shake myself when I am so often trying to mend myself?
And all the while there is the sky. And the mountains and ocean and people scurrying here and there with, I suppose (assume?) burdens much larger or just as large as mine. It’s the stepping outside myself, just beside myself, observing myself that shines a light on the lovely circus it all amounts to. My confusion around being joined and being separate. My constant wonder at the depth of patience I have with myself, rarely. My assumption that I am the only one who is doing this all wrong.
But when I step back from my own lovingly packed drama lunch I am able to say, “Look at the majestic sky. Look at that miraculous color of orange. Look at how it all smushes together to make you go ‘Wow'” And then I know there must be hope for me.
Yours In Lessening the Grrrrr,