35. The time to be slow

The poem this week is called an excerpt from 'Benedictus' by John O'donohue.

Anyone else feeling that level of low-lying discomfort, like being at the starting line of the egg and spoon race and waiting so flippin patiently for the teacher to blow their whistle! Wanting lock-down to end, the chance to hug our estranged loved ones, to move a little more freely? I know I am. I'm trying to notice this, and also to breathe into it. For strangely these past few weeks have given me a depth of appreciation for what the simple things in life can bring, and somewhere in the recesses I am worried that with this haste I'll neglect these simple pleasures when the doors to the world start to slowly re-open.

So I'm trying to notice the speed to my actions and plans, my resistance to the confines, embrace the conflict, and to slow down again, for when I'm slower I'm calmer, I'm more balanced, and more at ease. I suspect in years to come one of the sadness's to all of this will be when my 2.5yr old niece said to me Auntie Tracey I miss you, and I couldn't give her a hug. But I can tell you the enormity of it when I do!

For most of us, the time will come, we can embrace, it'll be magical, maybe a little bit tighter than usual, emotional, and come with a mascara warning. But in the meantime we can practice easing into it and take our time, so that when it comes it's easy, confident, and a simple moment of joy.

This is the time to be slow,

Lie low to the wall

Until the bitter weather passes.

Try, as best you can, not to let

The wire brush of doubt

Scrape from your heart

All sense of yourself

And your hesitant light.

If you remain generous,

Time will come good;

And you will find your feet

Again on fresh pastures of promise,

Where the air will be kind

And blushed with beginning.