Flood, Flow and Sow

The drought. The pandemic, now pretending to be endemic. The war. The wars. The prices. The commodity supplies. The emergency visit to the hospital. The seasonal transition pressures. The guests. The boundaries tested. The number on the scale. The misplaced tools and foods. The mould. The shrieking noises. The loud laughter. The broken honey jar on the floor. The insomnia. 


As the spring comes, the energy unfolds. Everything in me, the family and the garden seems to need to expand and require more space, light and speed. This flow is however being met by a number of restrictions and limitations, some real and distant, some imaginary and close. There is a flood of things going on, and I find myself anxious again. 


It is 3:33, and I am writing because I engaged in some emotional eating last night, and now feel slightly nauseous, nowhere near sleepy and my legs seem ready to run while the rest of me is sluggish. 


The men of my life lie in bed, healthy and resting. I try to focus, calm down and appreciate all the wonderful things about this magic life. And my heart starts racing. Where do you want to go? There is a train line just past our house. Where could I go? There is nowhere else I would rather be. That is a comforting re-realization. 


It is cold and dark outside. The snails are probably feasting on the tasty sprouting sunflowers and cabbages, but for the most part it seems very quiet. The sun is now tending the other parts of this incredible planet, but soon it will return, bathing us with its energy. In a few hours, there is a new beginning and a chance to try again to go with the flow and sow some progress and harmony around me. 


I sip some tea, remember to breathe, and try to focus on the sounds. There is the keyboard strokes, the computer sounds that could almost be confused by little crickets outside. The heartbeat slows down a bit.

It is 3:50. This text is of dubious value to anyone, I wonder if it is worth sharing. But this was a diary site of sorts, so why not. 


Perhaps there is someone out there also feeling anxious, feeling confused by the lack of clear crisis at the heart of this feeling. You are not alone. Here is me, trying to remember to bring my attention to the senses instead of the thoughts. The smells, the taste, the sounds… it helps a little. In a few hours the sun will flood its light from behind the trees and I will go with the flow, welcoming spring, and its spectacular force. For now, I will close my eyes.