Tuesday, September 13, 2011
A blank page and a blinking cursor.
Why is it that when taking the time to write, to share, the mind goes blank. It is far from blank at midnight when it goes a mile a minute. Then it tumbles over itself. Frantic. Did I? Remember to. What about? Don't forget!
But given a moment in time and a chance to think and process and create...
Yet, when you sit in silence you begin to notice that the silence isn't quite. There are ghost notes of thoughts shimmering in your brain.
I reach, grasping for them, bringing them down to where I can hear them. Tuning them in on my brain waves, searching in static.
Listen to the hints of melody and then just write:
This morning little goat woke up 10 minutes before my alarm would start going off. Instead of an alarm, and a snooze (or three), I am coaxed awake by the smallest voice calling from his room. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy"
Relief, he calls for Dad first. My wake up can be moments longer as I fight off the cobwebs. There wasn't enough sleep last night, it seems there never is. In the world of introverts the time to sit often becomes more important at night than to crawl into bed when one ought.
Still alarm or not, I hoist myself out of bed. I'm on daycare duty today so I hop in the shower. Those ten extra minutes become the ability to shave my legs and to breath under the water before facing the day. But before I can face the day I look down to a face peering in on my moment.
It hits me then, my moment as not the part about being alone with my thoughts, but the moment instead when he comes to look for me. Daddy he calls, but he knows Mama is there ready to be found.
Sometimes I look for those moments alone. It isn't avoiding others, but finding myself again. But in my own finding I can be hidden as well.
But he always comes to look for me.
I am found.
In a moment.
Mama once more.
Just where I wish to be. Found within and without. Moments intertwined into identity.
It is good to be found.