I woke up this morning, unsure of where I was, again.
It’s been a long time, this self-imposed hermitage.
Silence can be staggering in its roar.
It takes me a few minutes to get moving, my body unwilling to leave the warmth of our nest under the layers of blankets. I struggle to sit up. I push myself to put my feet on the floor, wincing as the agony struck before any pressure is put upon them. It is what it is. It’s been this way for years. No one had any answers. I walked away.
One day, I know, something will shift and the pain will go away. When I pray about this situation, the answer always come to unbind my feet. Unbind my feet. I am still working on a way to do that in this lifetime where no strips of cloth bind my feet.
I stretch, wincing as the little pains and flares snark out bitter comments. Again, normal. I work slowly, twisting here, pushing there, pulling here, a careful dance my body and I have every so often throughout the day. There’s comes a point where I relax, take a few deep breaths, and shuffle forward.
I fill the kettle, settling it over the flame. I pull cups from the cupboard, two, then three. One cup for honey and lemon juice. One cup for chamomile tea with honey. One cup for honey and coconut oil and eventually for coffee. I keep a small jar of cold-brewed coffee in the door of the refrigerator. While waiting for the kettle to sing out that the water is ready, I pull out a glass and fill it with water. I drink two glasses before the kettle whistles. I pour the boiled water into each cup, filling the first two completely and the final one only halfway.
I stir each cup in its turn, making sure honey and whatever else is well-melted and dispersed. Then I grab the cold coffee jar and finish filling the third cup, stirring that again to bring everything together in the cup.
I take the honeyed-lemon water cup and move outside to the porch, to my chair.
There I sit, the breeze puffing into my silvery hair. Birds call and twitter about. Squirrels chirp. Whatever else is there rustles under brush and above in trees. I stare out at the mountains. Trees overwhelm my vision. I do not seek to see the leaves. I allow the greens to wash over my heart, to open me to this new day.
I take my time. I have no schedule. I do what I do as it feels good to me.
I will drink this lemon water. I will drink my chamomile tea the same way. I will drink my coffee as it suits me, perhaps with a bit of just baked yesterday fresh bread with butter rubbed all over its surface.
This is not a meditation. This is simply a recognizing of myself, the day, my surroundings. I allow thoughts to come and go. I do not listen. I breathe, calm, focused, present. This is living. This is life. I embrace this.
After a bit of food, my coffee is all gone. Now it is time to get to work.