Enya is playing. Such memories. Will try and print to form the words. Scriches are not scribble.

Storm blew through tonight. Stood at the door and took over 100 pictures hoping to get one good picture of the lightning.

Today was discombobulated. Not sure why. I just couldn’t get traction. Went into work feeling purposeful but quickly became like running water. Sorta like my scriching tonight.

The printing feels like quick sand. My hand wants to race and I’m slowly printing. So, I have a choice. Print so I can read and honor the process. I can write fast with little chance of reading. I can also just scribble like a child pretending to write and let the energy be released. Or, I can learn to slow the cursive down and maybe gather a little speed.

But do I need speed? Do I need to write fast? What is the goal? To simply say I wrote? Well, hell, just scribble fast and mark it done!

Hmmmmm. That was interesting. A bit of release

I just stood in a storm clicking away hoping to get one good picture. Can I have the same patience with myself? I want the fast release of the scribble. Energy flowing out. I want the grace of honoring my heart and what she sees and feels. I don’t want to lose this moment.

I sit and remember my lunch today. A beautiful cemetery near work. I go at lunch for quiet and the beauty of the surrounding woods. I watched the wind’s pen scribble and release the leaves’ energy. I watched a hawk just sitting. That’s all. I became startled when I noticed cars pulling into the drive. Someone had died. The funeral would be penned against stormy gray paper. Then, without a sound, robins grabbed the pen out of sadness’ hand and changed the pace. The harbingers of spring, penned themselves in the trees as the mourners gathered with cursive swirls.

I want to dance with the fierce quickness of the leaves. I want to write like the robins. I want to print like hawk. I want to click with the hope of just one good one.

And so, I chuckle, reach for my coffee and listen to Enya. Flow has no speed. Truth is this moment.

Namaste! Sweet mercy.