Feeling especially quiet this equinox morning. Kind of floating.

Maybe it’s the yoga. I just did a contemplative hour with Abbey of the Arts, the first time I’ve practiced in such a long time I don’t think you can say I have anything like a practice any more. Which is okay. The letting-go, the ebb-and-flow, is good too.

Maybe it’s the running? My husband and I have been rising before dawn three days a week to alternately walk and run around the soccer field at the end of the street. This would be boring and unbearable for me in daylight: dogs and humans and beaten grass and machine-sound everywhere. In the hour before the sun, it’s magic. For a couple of weeks now, the stars have astonished us, even in the city. This morning, benediction came from the just-off-full moon, and a translucent layer of clouds that remind me of pancake ice — so, pancake clouds.

Maybe it’s the equinox. The tilt, the turning, the balance. Tell the Turning, named for these long liminal moments (and others…), eases to press today. A fitting time for final revisions and sending into the world.

The autumn issue of Leaping Clear arrived in my inbox today. As much as I have trouble with having too much online to read (I prefer print), I do read this. And I will, as the editors request, read slowly, a piece here and a piece there, welcoming contemplative encounters. This morning I encountered a type of poetry I don’t know how to name. It’s the sort without recognizable lines, that appears to scatter all over the page. Cumulus poetry. I confess to some impatience with the idea in the past. These poems, by Jody Gladding, cast a soft spell, though. Wandering through them, I have all the time in the world.

I feel similarly about a book (print! glorious print!) that arrived in the post a few days ago: Chris LaTray’s collection of haiku (& haibun, & wonderful art by Clare Carpenter), Descended from a Travel-Worn Satchel. I get pretty intense about print too, wanting to READ ALL THE THINGS. Which of course cannot be done. Descended is an antidote to that feeling. Haiku are so simple, they float. I float between them. It’s a quiet form, a subtle one. Hard to write. I’m kind of in awe of this simple, deeply unpretentious collection.

I’ve been feeling pretty intense about Tell the Turning for the last few days. Which feels natural as we near the final stages of creation, but that doesn’t make me easier with it. This is my first rodeo! Or my first baby! Pick your metaphor! This morning I finally feel calm in my bodymind. (That probably is the yoga, isn’t it?) I’m not promising this will last, but that’s balance, right? Ebb and flow. Clock-time and cloud-time. Tension and release.

I’m having a moment of floating on all of that, and it feels…not good. Not bad. Not much, but in a good way. Right.

I’ll try to remember this later, and I probably won’t. Right now, that’s okay. Everything is okay. I’m trying to care more closely about right now.

2 thoughts on “Float

  1. Thanks for your Fall Equinox Resources/Gifts. I will relish them. there was a time when I would get up early and do some of that morning walking but now I have moved that to afternoons and have enjoyed the Blue Hour. That window between daylight and night time. I love the Blue Hour.
    — Jack

    Liked by 1 person

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