Morning comes and as peaceful as it here, anxiety crawls up my belly like a snake, threatening to settle in my throat, cutting off all breath.
It is beautiful here this morning. A little traffic noise, but mostly bird song and a woodpecker, searching for his breakfast in the old oak by the railroad track.
There is nothing in this world I have to do today and yet, every small chore I have before me to do or not as I choose, seems to loom like a malevolent shadow and I feel paralyzed, a squirrel caught in the road, unsure of whether to run forwards or backwards, doom seeming to be unavoidable no matter which which one I choose, knowing though that a choice must be made, standing still not an option, not an option at all.
Just got a text. An old friend of my children's has died. Probably suicide. A gay man and he spent a lot of time in the high school years at my house. I remember once, he was obviously so stoned and I said, "Honey, do you want some orange juice?"
And he did.
He was a good boy. I am sure he was a good man.
The Buddhists say that all is suffering and that is what ties us together and maybe that's true.
I have absolutely no idea why that thought no more cheers me than the idea of Jesus hanging from a cross.
Here's what I will do today:
Tend chickens. Clean the hen house. Work in the garden. Hang clothes on the line. Make the bed.
Do what I can and keep on doing it, in the meantime, staying alive.
You too, okay? Whichever way you choose to run or stroll or roll or be, just keep doing it.
It's always hard times for someone. Hold out a hand if you see someone struggling. And most likely, everyone you come across is struggling in some silent painful way.
I love you.