Freezing sleet blankets the forest in crystalline magic.
Inside, the welcoming aroma of fresh coffee punctuates the end of slumber.
It’s hard to get worked up about anything these days.
And that very difficulty creates its own brand of trouble.
I imagine others bustling about, making work, closing deals, going, going, going . . .
I used to live that life, too.
But I just can’t any more.
Instead, my new Insurrected life demands a different pace.
It won’t allow me to worry about the future.
It insists I slow down.
And stay that way.
I’m still resisting this new pace, though.
It feels “wrong” somehow – dangerous.
But, try as I might, I cannot summon the worry to worry about it.
Every day I tell myself that tomorrow, I will get back in that game.
But every day, as the coffee brews, I know that I won’t.
Somehow, some way, this new pace is going to have to be “good enough.”
And so, I surrender.
One day at a time, I accept this new version of myself.
One day at a time, I abstain from worry.
Worry can only live in the future.
And my body, my work, my craft can only happen in the Precious Present.
And so, it seems to me that the work needs to be about staying here
With Beautiful You
And with Beautiful Me.
Blessed Be. Love, Jen
And now, for your part. You get to write the next part of the poem. So, someone write the first line or two of the next stanza. The person after that please add on to their work. And, so on.
Photo: flickr, Sergey Gabdurakhmanov