Steep, dusty, fur-wrapped stairs; a Burmese girl roaring about on a motorbike; jack-hammering wood-milling machines — the stuff of dreams. Yes, Freud, I know.
Half an hour back and forth in the pool down the road, and five minutes blissed out against the second best jet in the spa pool.
Porridge with raisins and dates, topped with walnuts and brown sugar.
Emails, in-laws, phone calls, discussions and decisions. (I will blog more often.)
The thick, warm mouthfuls — morning coffee.
This ridiculous Youtube: Who’s a guilty dog then?
Wondering (always) what is means to open, soften, say yes more, let go, be alive here, now. Breathing.
Is it nothing? Is it everything?
8 responses to “A morning”
So they are, Pam, so they are. You are, too. x
Pen, all those bits of your morning, they’re good. xx
Thanks, Kay and Marylinn. Yes, in my best moments, I know, now is everything, and enough.
Naomi, the facebook heart needs translation here, but it holds good. X
<3
In complete agreement with Melissa Green, it IS everything. Perhaps it demands a form of amnesia, the ability to forget disappointment and always trust that what comes next will be even better.
Lovely to sway into your musings Pen. Lovely way with words you have.
It’s enough, anyway, Melissa. And when shocks, jostlings and tussles turn up in their own good time, I’ll try to be open to them, too. Thanks for coming in and perching with me. X
A lovely, gently reflective piece, Pen. You were open this morning you write of, and many others besides. I suppose we can always open more. But it is not nothing. It is everything. It is the everything we are here for. xox