Glimmers
Few things nourish my soul more than being gently woken by the rising sun, padding quietly downstairs while the bun follows behind and the cats trace lazy circles around my ankles. Setting the kettle, opening the windows and sitting down to write. The only words I’ve spoken have been soft croonings to the pets. Sometimes I go to my personal desk and journal—spelling out my gratitudes and expanding upon them until I’m awash with appreciation and quiet joy. Other times I scribble furiously all the ideas and ponderings that flooded my mind while I struggled to sleep. Today I’m at my “work desk” (yes, I separate the two at home—I’m fortunate enough to have the space to do so, a luxury I didn’t have for many years—it helps my mind organize my thoughts and my day this way)… clicking away at my keyboard, attempting to drum up something meaningful to write.
Vonnegut said something to the effect of: don’t waste people’s time with your writing.
That concept both liberates and terrifies me. I certainly never want someone to leave a sharing of mine feeling like they lost precious moments of their lives—and yet, I’ve had that thought before. So here I am, dissecting and fretting over what is “valuable” and what is “worthwhile” and where the two intersect…err…collide.
Perhaps my words will never be considered valuable, or marketable, let alone profitable. I can contentedly settle for worthwhile, though. Maybe not everything worthwhile is meaningful. Maybe meaningful is in the stolen glimpses and glimmers, in the reflections and introspections. Maybe meaningful is far too subjective to suss out on any given Sunday. I’m willing to try, though. To share the glimmers and pray that they reach the right audience and someone on the other end reads my words, breathes a little more deeply and feels… something.
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Sunlight streams through eastern windows, drenching the walls in diffuse reflections. Wild sage smoke lingers from the morning’s cleansing. Stillness—punctuated by the occasional trill of passing song birds and the thrumming of the fan. Nettle, peppermint, calendula tea. Candle flickering before a murti. This type of peace cannot be rushed. Mindful, cultivated, intentional sanctuary. What calls to your soul, offering respite, I wonder?
