We are moving so quickly, busily, our souls blur, becoming sheer and insubstantial even to ourselves. So busy that we can’t remember what solid stillness feels like. We’re turning to a task before our spirits have released our attention from the task that’s still slipping from our fingers. We get stretched – becoming spider webs stretched between activities. Our consciousness lies watchful in the upper corner of our jumbled web, waiting to pounce and consume the tasty parts of our days.
Days whisk by, our hands barely feeling the hot air brushing over our skin from the moments skittering out of our way. We become thinner and wanner, almost invisible in our spinning until we hit something that makes us stop. We reach towards this new thing as if it is just another passing activity. It suddenly becomes heavy and we’re unable to set it down so quickly. The dawdling over it allows our stretched parts to shrink back and slowly we become solid again. Parts stretched out relearn their place in the calm body of ourselves and we remember luxury and indulgence again. We become fat and juicy as we allow ourselves to linger in the decadence of pure time and focus. No more sheer curtains of ourselves. In those moments, we are solid and sure – not a wisp subject to the will of the wind.
This time we must be pulled away. We don’t reach eagerly toward the next task; we strain to maintain the hold on what we have right now. And as we feel the day move forward again, we stretch to keep contact as long as possible. When the connection snaps, we turn forward once again to our busy lives – but now solid and sure. We are calmer knowing we can return; knowing there is a place where our souls can catch up and we can be still.
We move off, quickly, leaving the beginnings of the trail of ourselves.
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