Every so often I find that life has somehow spun away from me, I am whirling like a dervish and even my thoughts are scattered. There is a need in me to quiet myself and my environment, and it seems impossible. It's that moment in my movie where the pianists fingers dance across the keys in what appears to be a light, skipping tune but soon reveals slightly manic wings that threatens to fly off into the ether altogether.
The last few days were a revelation to me. Time slowed down and I paused, and I found that I do have room in my head for something other than the needs of the small people around me. I have room for poetry, and the kind of being in the present that has nothing to do with not having time to look up and around me. I can pause in the midst of the forest and see the leaves and the sunlight filtering through and it dances on the small faces waiting there, eager and full of love and deeply trusting. And I see clearly how simple it is.
Mindfulness. Mother-ness. The dancing leaves. The quiet that resides in me.
I just have to be mindful about seeing it as it passes me by. To hold out my hand and brush my fingertips against it's golden wings.
To let it quieten me.