I find myself emerging from the muck of mundane life smelling of pine. These are the thoughts that stick to me, impossible sap to the skin: there isn’t enough time, I don’t have the discipline, there isn’t enough support. I stand up in the morning light and begin to stretch. I am aware of this muck that sticks to me, collects dust and dog hair til I think myself a tar baby. I am aware of the light that dwells within, the sweetness of my breath, the quivering life in my bones, til I think myself an angel. And then, I just open, like a peony, layers of petals and silk, till the heart of the flower is bare to the world, breathing out her fragrance, open to the bees that will come and give her fulfillment.
The muck remains. Maybe there isn’t enough time, or support, or discipline. But I have this day, this moment, and I will simply walk into my heart of gratitude, smelling of pine and looking the way that I am.