My mind is stretched like a near-to-popping balloon. Disorganized. As if a recipe box tipped over, displacing all the tidy note cards to the kitchen sink, and then in one fell swoop tossing them back into the box, closing the lid, and pretending outwardly that all was well inside. Neatly compartmentalized. Calm.
My bedroom, my office, my bookshelves, the front of my refrigerator door, the array of post notes trailing in my wake have never given the impression of organization. Outwardly. But inwardly, my mind, I have prided on being as put together as a well-tended recipe box.
Not today. Not yesterday. And probably not tomorrow.
“God moments.” That’s what my writing friend calls my more-than-coincidence encounters of late. I don’t know. One minute I like to think that yes, this is God speaking. And inwardly, I think I know it is. But I’m not sure how I feel about God. Or maybe I don’t want to call him God. Maybe I want to give him a different name or a different essence. Whatever it is, these encounters of late I can only contribute to something greater than myself. Something equally, if not, more stubborn than myself. This essence wants to have a conversation with me everyday if not all day. I almost want to (and I have) blame it for the rare spare hours I’ve had at work of late. Today at work I spent noon to 5pm waiting on patients who never came. My boyfriend is in another state this week, preoccupied with family; my twin sister is on a meditation retreat, also in another state; and my best friend who I consult in times like this, is on a silent retreat. All the while, I seem to have endless amounts of time to think with a mind that’s far from silent.
My bedroom, my office, my bookshelves, the front of my refrigerator door, the array of post notes trailing in my wake have never given the impression of organization. Outwardly. But inwardly, my mind, I have prided on being as put together as a well-tended recipe box.
Not today. Not yesterday. And probably not tomorrow.
“God moments.” That’s what my writing friend calls my more-than-coincidence encounters of late. I don’t know. One minute I like to think that yes, this is God speaking. And inwardly, I think I know it is. But I’m not sure how I feel about God. Or maybe I don’t want to call him God. Maybe I want to give him a different name or a different essence. Whatever it is, these encounters of late I can only contribute to something greater than myself. Something equally, if not, more stubborn than myself. This essence wants to have a conversation with me everyday if not all day. I almost want to (and I have) blame it for the rare spare hours I’ve had at work of late. Today at work I spent noon to 5pm waiting on patients who never came. My boyfriend is in another state this week, preoccupied with family; my twin sister is on a meditation retreat, also in another state; and my best friend who I consult in times like this, is on a silent retreat. All the while, I seem to have endless amounts of time to think with a mind that’s far from silent.
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