Digging

Inspiration.
Love.

These are realities I try to dig myself into.
I imagine there are so many of us who do so consciously and with intentional passion every day.
And some of us accidentally stumble ever so infrequently on them, carefully palpitating the textures.
Somewhere in the contrast of the two is where I find myself.

I wake up and I think of the air in my lungs, the feel of my feet on the floor, my voice.  I feel the weight of my body the awkward stiffness in my bones as they acclimate to movement. I'm not 20 anymore.

I get my cup of coffee and walk across the living room floor in the quiet dark. I can see the raindrops on the window and the lights on the street. I am filled with gratitude at the beauty of these simple things.

We know the world is not this heaven everywhere. A few mornings ago I was overcome with gratitude that I am not in a war torn country. That I do not need to hide my small fat fingers and chubby cheeks from things too horrible to describe.

I don't need to dig holes of inhumanity and fill them with my very breath.

 I have options. So, I find the holiest and most wonderful things to fill the days with.

I am sitting on my bed. The heater is on. I am clean and warm. My fat little fingers and curly hair and gigantic smile are wrapping themselves in security.
The causation of the me I am now, sleeps, dreaming of wild futures in the new world she is about to launch into.

In these early mornings, filled with Gratitude, I am slammed with inspiration.I am filled to overflowing with Love.
And I slowly palpitate the lines on each of these as I am aware of my footsteps across the floor and am struck by the genius of raindrops and light in the dark. I thank Gd my mother gave to me that I can be here now, digging.