Kind promise: I will open to each moment.
It was noon on March 23 and lazy snowflakes drifted from the gray sky. They settled on gray snow banks, dirtied by sand and salt and people too winter weary to care. Adults emerging from the dark hallway glanced up, heaved heavy sighs and headed toward the coat racks. Children gasped, “it’s snowing!” The clumping of their boots went doubletime as they ran to the windows, arms outstretched to embrace the wonder.
I’ve been concerned, lately, that I’ve become a one trick pony. No matter what the challenge, no matter what the situation, I handle it the same way: breathe and love.
The breaths are about letting go of expectations and schemes and judgments. They are about remembering and connecting to the sacred.
The love is what I want to be doing and feeling.
Don’t think, for a second, that I’m not petty and crabby and weary. I am all of those things and probably several more that aren’t as complimentary. But every time I position myself to travel the road of desperation and despair, something happens to jiggle me loose. The little kids in their clumping boots tug me back toward life like muezzins calling the faithful to prayer.
Then I remember to breathe and love and notice the miracles. This pony works, simple as it is; I guess I will forget concern and celebrate instead.