Dark Sunday

I’m thinking of making waffles. There’s fruit, bananas and mangoes and too many oranges. There’s yogurt. I could make a corn bread. There are possibilities.

The world seems so crazy. So so crazy. Deep breath here. Steady on. Pause. Breathe. Pause.

Practice in the face of all obstacles.

Now today, another dark Sunday morning. I’m fine. A bit of a headache. Too much chocolate. It does that to me. Gives me a sort of hangover.

In a dream, there was the director of the dance company. He was coming up the back stairs. I don’t know what the plan was?

I woke up thinking about that time in my life. Dancing. I followed the tug on my heart. My “passion”. By the seat of my pants and against all odds.

When I was a teenager there were ferocious fights with my mother about dancing. I refused to listen to reason. I was hell bent on having my way. I was so sure. How could this perfect feeling be wrong? Surely it would be fine. Just LET ME DANCE!

So we fought and I screamed and had tantrums. She thought I should plan ahead. Study dance therapy or something that would support me later. That just seemed so impossible and unimportant. Just LET ME DANCE!

Finally at the age of sixteen I stopped going to school. I got a job and moved out. I worked and danced.

I couldn’t see what she meant. So powerful was my desire to just dance. It caused a terrible chasm in our relationship. Of course there were other factors too. But that was a huge rift.

She was right. Hind sight is 20/20. The moment was all I could see. The future was nonexistent. I should have been planning ahead. Thinking things through was never my strong suit. I lived in the moment.

Very careless. That’s exactly what it was. I could “care less”. And now I have some regret. I’m seventy years old and somewhat unable to walk well much less dance. I’m frighteningly poor. It’s much harder at this age to feel like I made the right decisions.

I’m coming out of a spell of existential anxiety. It came on me like a flu. Mostly in the wee hours when I’m trying to fall back asleep after a pee. That, “what’s the point” anxiety. Then in the morning I’m having my cup of coffee and looking out at the greening grass. The Red Bud coming into bloom. Violets and daffodils everywhere. Some forsythia. Magnolia flowers like crazy. I work the puzzles and write my pages. I still write out in long hand the gratitude list. When I’ve sat long enough I get up and go swim with the other old ladies at the Y.

Then I remember that my life is a gift. We’re here on earth to have experiences. Everything is unfolding in divine right order. I have been granted some measure of grace. Nothing is wrong. I’m not drunk and the bills are paid. Everything else is gravy.

This week is the 32 year anniversary of my sobriety. I am forever grateful to those that came before and showed the way.

Namaste 🦋☮️🙏🏻