Posts Tagged ‘the value of stillness’

As I backed out of the driveway yesterday, I noticed the sun inclined in the trees of the Redbud Forest Pansy in my front yard. Warm and yellow, the leaves glowed, backlit by the fading, evening light — apricity, complicity. I paused my car between reverse and forward  — a moment of  stillness.

And so it goes, the fall has warmth in it, its colors delight, yellow is good, the color of the sun, the color of fire, splotchy effulgence.  We note it.

Life has a yellow, sun-smacked look to it.

But there are the other colors too, “Muddy-Yuk” for instance  — by the way that’s an official color established by the Global Board’s Periodic table of colors  — the color of the floors in the new remodeled counseling center that I scraped last week.

Thank about it.

The children in Yemen are starving. It’s because of the war. I saw the pictures on 60 Minutes last night. Disturbing. Yuck.

The same sun that delights me makes life unbearable for them. It’s horribly hot in Yemen. The children are dying. They fade, like light-hungry leaves, but differently.  It’s tragic.

What to think?

I don’t today, it’s quite beyond me —  Can it be beyond me-productive for just today? —  the why and when, while, want and whip of wasting, whooping time.

Granted. Today, really, I just am. I exist, and tired from a long season of hard work, I surrender to reality.  I hate some of it. l love some of it. I necessarily bow before all of it.

By personality, I am driven, high-output, a change-maker, and image conscious, an inveterate doer, a 3 on the Enneagram typology.  I feed people. I fix problems. But today, with the cat on my lap, I just wish to be a be-er —  to loll, to laze, to loaf; to slouch, to sag, to slump; to dangle, dawdle and droop outside of the push of the ever-pulsing push-a-thon and push-a-nator.

I know that some of my own healing lies in stillness, my spiritual wholeness lies in being, my recovery rests in a robust tranquility, or just tranquillity, or just —  a yellow just.

Don’t call.

I won’t either.

Tomorrow maybe, but today, my sunlit vow — not to break a necessary stillness.