Wrecked at work today, shivering, stretched thin. Emailing in the office, staff talking to me, What? What are they saying? I don’t know. I don’t have the answer. Go bother someone else. There is no one else, I’m in charge? Well I don’t know. OK. Fine. I’m coming. I’ll fix it. Forcing body up from sepulchral slumber, creaking, groaning, out into the pub.
Somehow the shift passes. I do the jobs I wanted to get done. Colour code the keg lines. Email breweries. Print sheets to arrange craft room by order of line checks.
Come home. Sit in back of taxi, not wanting driver to say one word. Reading Brexit debacle on my phone, no energy to figure it out. Head swimming. Shoulders aching. Taxi gliding through the blackness of the night.
Blood from stone, today. Dredging words one at a time up from the deep. Each sentence an aeon to write.
I’m getting in bed. Meditate for five minutes first, always meditate for five minutes, feel the field of awareness with all thoughts and ego conceptions snaking round and round. Feel field holding snaking, field larger, always empty, always silent, reposeful living space within which thoughts, frustrations, pains, come and go.
Then drink my glass of cold tap water, climb in bed, let go failures of the day and rest up to try again tomorrow. In baby steps keep journeying onwards, day after day after day.
......
Music: Indian Summer, by Beat Happening.
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