I feel like someone has stirred my pond water and clarity has become hard to find. Sometimes.
I feel mazed, caught, lost. Sometimes.
I feel like I'm searching. Seeking stillness. Clarity. Connection. It all seems far away, sometimes.
A friend and I were talking about meditation the other day. My naturopath suggested I meditate a few times a week to help find my clarity again.
In my mind, that has become bigger than it needs to be. I have a meditation CD that I could listen to, but that involves finding half an hour, taking my laptop (yes, in this day and age I have no ipod or mp3player) to somewhere quiet and private (hmmm, with two kids a husband a dog and a cat, while homeschooling) and being still.
It feels a little overwhelming. Like the "too hard" basket just scooched up next to me and said, "I'll take that!"
So I was talking about this with a friend and mentioned how I haven't yet had, or made, time to meditate.
But then we spoke of stillness. And I began to talk of how I find it.
In tiny moments, snatched out of the air. Glimpses of stillness, glimpses of clarity.
I find it while waiting for my boy to finish his piano lesson, standing outside while the sun sets, watching birds make room for each other in the bare arms of a tree.
I find it when I am just waking and the day lays itself in front of me like a blanket or a dog waiting for a belly rub.
I find it when I am sitting looking out at my backyard, watching the chickens forage in the unmown grass and scoot after each other when they think someone's got a worm they want.
I find it when we drive and stop talking (which is rare!). The kids get caught in their thoughts and I get to think mine.
I find it in the shower. Watching drops fall into other drops. Watching the cat watching the drops falling.
I find it in the making of a cup of tea.
I find it when I am walking. When I am somewhere by the ocean or by trees. The land and sea and sky make room for me and say, Here you are. And, Welcome.
I find it when the cat is on my lap and he has purred himself into quiet, when all that moves are his paws, twitching as he runs at birds in his dreams.
I find it when I am kissing my boy and girl goodnight. When I lean over and breathe them in and my heart flips, just a little, just enough.
I find it here, in this moment, writing these words. I find it when I realise I am not lost. I'm simply trying to remember I am found.