"To fly we have to have resistance." — Maya Lin   I'm a bit of a vampire. Some of the best stuff comes to me in the wee hours of the dawn or night. I'm the first to fall asleep soon after the dishes are done and the coffee's been set for the morning, no reserves left to witness the fictional goings-on of my favorite on-screen pals or read another chapter of that book now gathering dust by the bed. But sometime in the night - it happens. A gangly, almost-four-year-old stumbles to my bed and snuggles next to me. At times we breathe into each other's hollows and settle back down into a family-sized sled of slumber. Other times, my body takes it as a cue. A tiny dinging, muffled alarm somewhere in my mis-wired brain::: Get up.. It's time. Gather tea and pens and paper and let the Magic start to speak. ... It used to drive me crazy. This 2 a.m.manic-muse of mine who picks the darndest times to cartwheel through my brain. Starts singing songs and stories and whispering bits of inspired goodness in my ear - at the time that is most inconvenient to myself. Could not she schedule her visits during regularly-agreed-upon, daytime office hours, I would ask. Stumbling to the teapot and my darkened place upon the couch... I used to lay there in the dark,willing her to hush now. Could she not see the ungodly hour? The stoic flourescence on the mantle bleating out my need for Sleep?!?? Damnit. IT used to drive me nuts. ... Until. I chose one day to just Stop Fighting It. Lay down my arms. Surrender my ideas about how and when inspiration ought to dawn - and just give in. There exists a pure and pristine picture of me seated at my desk (in perfect array - no stacks of papers or erstwhile detritus to be found, to boot), engaged in meaningful and mindful work, at a respectable and reasonable 9 am. There is a picture in my mind of laying out my mat each day, facing East, of course, and attending to a daily and reliable rhythm sweat and breath and postures that will perfeclty align my spine, my hamstrings, chakras and hell, why not, even my whole day. There is a snapshot image which I carry of me - the perfect mother, beacon of patience and Grace. A fuzzy polaroid of me - the loving and ebullient wife, lover and earthly goddess - moving through the world with a sense of Light & Vim. Who does not raise her voice or lose her shit or her wits or her way. And there are the days, god bless 'em, where the stars align and conspire to grant me a tiny JPEG of these mythic postcards which I carry. The "PAss the (vegan, gluten-free, of course) GraVy and HAlle-friggin'-Lujah!" days where I can show up in just the way I envision. Inhabiting my spheres and chosen roles with a sense of Delight, Strength, Ease. Where 8 full blessed hours can pass by me unawares, while I snooze peacefully, waking with the rest of Life as the sun decrees. But there's also the 1 am, unasked-for wakeup-call. TheDearSweetJesusWhatISWrong tantrum of a not-quite-four-year-old on a random Thursday. On a plane. Or in the quiet confines of a family's otherwise peaceful home. The larger-than-expected cell phone bills and the dog food and the eggs no one remembered to pick up. The tiny argument blossomed into a full-blown squawl. ... I began this new year with a quest for Ten PErFeCt DaYs. While my family and I bounced around the tropics visiting friends and other members of our tribe, I inscribed that on my inner walls. A way to jettison and start the coming year. An inspired image to strive toward and set the tone of things to come. And, I mean, really - who needs to be reminded to be happy in HAwaii???? How hard is it to eat good food, and laugh and sweat and play and explore and move and connect and create while cradled in the land of rainbows and seaspray??? Come on. ... And yet... Life. Continues to surprise us. Confound. Annoy. Confront. and stretch out its' waggling tongue to our best-laid plans. How you can find yourself perched before a canopy of endless green, gazing at a nearby waterfall - and still have to remind yourself to breathe, calm down - and not to reach out in anger to the tiny tantrum on your right. To choose silence over hastily-spewed words to the heated exchange now looming on your left. To step out of the seductive pool of self-pity when the voice inside complains about a lack of sleep, or exercise or solo-time or whatever-else-may-be.... Step back into the solid ground of Just What IS. HEre. Now. Rather than brushing aside the moment or the muse or the emotion contained - learning how to stand inside of it. Quiet. Listening. Humble. Ready to hear her sing. .... I've stopped grappling with the midnight muse and now she and I, we have such grand adventures while the rest of the known world sleeps. Now that I've stopped telling her how and when to show up - but simply grateful when she does. I take her invitation up as best I can. Taking down the notes and guidance she offers - when she deems fit to send them down my way. And I think it's teaching me too - to stop fighting the Other Graces that want to enter in. Ten PerfeCt DaYs.... In so many ways strayed from the initial Vision. In others, richer and more vivid than I could have ever imagined. As I am being taught to show up - do my best - and welcome Whatever wants to come my way. the Calm enveloping the Storm. The unexpected clarity of sleeplessness. The unmistakeable feeling of Being Held - right where I am. this lifelong process of Opening to Grace - It's opening my eyes and ears and something deep in the pith of my Being... Ten Breaths. Ten Moments. Ten Days or weeks or lifetimes at a time... ~ in which I get to listen for the Tune... and if I'm lucky.... hum along. xox ~a ...... Thank you for taking the time to read. and If you feel so led, respond. My intention here is always to add to your own Journey - lend some humor, possibly some insights and wisdom from my own. To craft a camraderie of shared artistry, practice and Joyful encounters down the path. On the table, coming soon, I'm pleased to be offering....
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