Longest Lesson in the Learning

1.

There, under the muffy yellow light and the freckles of toothpaste on the mirror, are a string of floss and a bobby pin, cast into the trashcan or unevenly on the side. It is not entertaining, it is not engaging; not motivating, adventurous, a dream or a granted hope. I look far away over the muffy room, beyond the hum-drum of the electric toothbrush. There, on the sunny, crowd-centered bench, are friends, eyes creased, of humor, shoulders arched back, enjoyed. And for a second, even under this muffy light, an invisible string pulls me up from lethargy, and I throw back my arms in ready energy.

Yet fingers stab a hole into the thin, parchment-like paper. Nothing, not the sunny bench, nor eyes-creased friends, nor enjoyment, are solidly before me. I have lived countless moments, yet none my own. I must replenish myself fully in my full Storehouse, be alive and propelled on ground I touch.

2.

Days and days are to come; new September year and influx; new opportunities, paces, communities; you have scarcely ventured into the canyon, the majesty; storming, awe-struck, capturing beauty is much up ahead, an unexpected downpouring and hanging fog that clears. Now the yet unseen looming clouds beckon. The splattering drive up the canyon is condensing, and I say to it, “Come.” I am comforted again.

3.

Let me etch these memories into my bones. The gift of counting them as pure happiness is a treasure. When you suffocate, don't discount them. These are beautiful moments—etch them into your skin, carve them into your bones.

And then, when you are cutting tomatoes, imagine a light shining through the window onto a sliver of the cutting board, and be there in each cut.

4.

The image that comes to my mind is this: I am half-turned on the street. A wind blows my hair a fraction over my face: wistful, solemn, suspended. My hard-lined mouth & eyes reflect in the window of the shop I’m standing in, half of my face clear—the glass shatters—this moment was fragile. Some moments are not mine to collect and own—as I walk along the street I am fully aware of their impermanence or changeability, temporariness. I do not feel like I can take, and keep, and call them my storehouse.

Yet some moments are mine, I have strength for my heart. They can settle deep in my heart, the floating clear box can settle at the bottom, filled with clear-sighted colorful stones. So as I gaze upon a tree with its magnificently shaped branches, I can let warmth sit at the ocean-bottom of my heart, and release sprinting daydreams.