The muse and I have an agreement.
She flows. I open. Myself. The floodgates. The doors. The windows. The entrances to my heart, my mind, my body, my being present. Here.
And in all that is opened up I lose the need to know what word, what thought, what idea comes next and simply allow. The word, the thought, the idea to appear.
This morning, I sat at my desk. My final eggnog latte of the season steamed in my Christmas mug, (final because the container is empty). Beaumont the Sheepadoodle curled up at my feet, piano music played softly all around, the furnace hummed, my husband slept in our bed.
Outside my window, the sun was kissing the night good-bye with rose-streaked kisses.
I sat at my desk and welcomed in the morning with a soul-satisfying breath. It sank, deep, deep into my belly. Softly, silently, it flowed with ease into my lungs, down, down into the crucible of my body, And as I breathed in, then out, I felt my conscious mind sinking down, down into the presence of the sacredness of this life-giving ritual of breathing. With each breath, in and out, I felt my entire being expand into every cell of my body bringing me effortlessly into the hallowed nature of this moment at the edge of day dawning.
And the words poured out.
Perhaps ©2020 Louise Gallagher In a rush to make-meaning in all that has happened in all that has gone wrong or right in all that has been lost or gained I lose myself in the desperate struggle to not feel the loss of all I tell myself has been lost. Perhaps in my struggle to make it all make sense or have a purpose or fit into a box that only I can see I lose sight of all I cannot see. Perhaps, the meaning is in the experience. Perhaps, the making sense does not make sense. Perhaps, when I allow the purpose of everything to be the experience of everything without holding on to it all without fearing losing it all without judging it good or bad acceptable or unacceptable necessary or unnecessary I will find myself in that liminal space where all I have and all I am and all I know are nothing more than all I have to let go of. And, perhaps when I let go of naming all I have all I lost all I won all I know I will find myself in all I am. Perhaps then I will experience the all that I am as the most precious gift of all.