This morning, I find my self telling me I should be doing the homework from my yoga training that the teacher has assigned. Big Self is in the bathtub—soaking up the epsom salts, candle lit, with intentions so divine.

The new moon is right on time.

For a few months, 

nearly twice a day, I saw him.

In the mornings, a leather jacket—

In the afternoons, shirtless—

Always the same mustard colored jeans—

tinged with life outdoors.

Always the same wide, toothy grin—

Always the sign attached to his cart—

Love

God B

Kind

Those perpetual daydreamers…

Calling on those neurons of God

who think—

Yes, and…

To those universes within universes 

and dreams within dreams—

There is more;

I know it. 

Years ago, at my wedding, a dear friend gave a toast in which she likened me to a hummingbird darting around the pool deck at water polo practice during our high school years. I can still recall this version of my former self spilling with youthful energy and confidence—embodying the lack of fear that comes with knowing one can fly instantly in any direction they choose.

One dream unfolded into another. 

My family and I were riding bikes through a series of train cars—one after another. There, people were eating and inquisitive wait staff looked on as we passed by—

May I help you?

No, thanks. We’re doing just fine.

We knew where we were headed without knowing why

Spider spins her livelihood and waits for what will be. She’s not advertising. There’s no marketing analysis or rebranding research. Spider speaks in web. She creates what she must and trusts that it is enough. She repairs when repairs are needed, and she moves on when it is time to go. 

I would hear the rumble growing even before it crested over the mountaintop behind the garden. That steel pterodactyl flying so high above would be met with a bird of a different type as my middle finger, by reflex of my ire, would extend and curse that trespasser of the sky, my sky. 

The exit signs whirl past me as the pedal hits metal and the only path seems like push and crash—burning doesn’t seem optional—until all there is left are fumes…. Harder. Faster. Almost…not quite there…yet.

Is that what the bee felt yesterday when I chose not to intervene?

Slowly, painfully, the laws of Nature began to reorder my life, my being. Suddenly, I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Motherhood and adulthood had descended in the blink of an eye.

The rain pours steadily from the sky, 

streaming downward in long beats 

kissing the leaves beneath the oak canopy, 

each leaf dancing in rebound, 

a symphony of soft silence,

as Nature pounds 

and whips 

ever so gently.

My twenty year old brain, if one would have told it to be easy, would have conjured notions of late nights and free love.  For the score that came after that, being easy wasn’t an option. It’s not only that I was in a committed, eternal relationship, but that the grind of life had rendered me tense, rigid, and consumed with conformity. I had forgotten the ease of youth, the flow of a child. So when my meditation teacher told me to be easy, I had no idea what to do.