When you spend the weekend with the mountain as your temple, “plugged in” solely to the stars, the gods, and the handful or so of vibrant souls sharing your surroundings your re-entry into the day to day can be abrasive.  Monday morning arrived as a clean slate for me, devoid of any familiar patterns.   My eyes opened to the warm sun on the back of my neck through my bedroom window, already too high in the sky for it to be my normal waking hour.  The house was empty and quiet. No children to dress or send to school.  No clocks professing loudly the omnipresence of time.  In fact, as I stumbled into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee I noticed that not a single appliance would turn on.  The power was off.  The Burrow had in fact unplugged itself.

Robbed of even that vestige of routine I ventured out to procure a more indulgent than usual cup of joe (read Starbucks), and take a long drive to no where in particular.  After all, sometimes the best thing to do is to embrace the discord.  I let the CD play through the deeper cuts on the album, the ones I had until that moment skipped past.  I got lost.  Lost high above the city on a very quiet one lane road.  Lost back atop a mountain.  The voice within repeating two words over and over.  Be still.  And finally I was.

Silence.  The palpable energy that can not convey false hoods, excuses, analysis or interpretation.  The space between words that holds only will and meaning.

A vow of silence was my next step along the Path, from that moment until I know it no longer serves me.  To live connected without audible language, so that only kisses leave my lips.  An adventure!

So, friends and loved ones, forgive me if I do not pick up the phone.  Indulge me if our interactions require more face time than usual.  I will return your texts as needed, and your emails if required.  I’m still here, listening. 

Advertisements

Today I did not eat.  I afforded myself my ritual morning coffee because it is doctrine and because I had only slept a few sparse hours.  Tender Warrior spent the wee morning hours battling dream time rock golems, and I spent them soothing his battle scars.  I brewed the fresh Starbucks grounds into my favorite large blue mug, mixed in the heavy whipping cream, sugar free DaVinci syrup and topped it with more whipped cream.  It’s less beverage and more indulgent art.  I tumbled into the couch and tilted the contents of the mug to my lips.  As the sleepless haze lifted I remembered. Today I had committed myself to a fast.

I had been moved to such lengths in church Sunday morning as I heard our minister describing the moral implications of the congressional budget.  He touched briefly on the cuts that would leave women and children without food stamps.  He pledged his own fast in solidarity with those families and the religious leaders who shared his, our, vision of fair and responsible governance.  He called from the pulpit and my conscience answered.  But let’s leave the politics here.  The insight I gained from this small act of protest was far more personal.

By mid-day the gnawing in my belly had begun to garner my attention.  It was more antagonizing than agony, but my inability to ease it shifted my thoughts inward.  It occurred to me then as it does now.  The challenges in my life are the challenges of abundance.

I am loved and thus committed to those around me.

I am talented and thus needed.

I am intelligent and thus indulge my interests.

My home is warm and spacious and thus requires upkeep.

I am healthy and thus capable of lending my strength.

My stomach groaned reminding me that but for grace it could be otherwise.  Today I did not eat, yet I was nourished all the same.