I probably shouldn’t be writing this right now.
I’ve been in that mode where I get in a sort of convergence zone. I’ve been voraciously feasting on spiritual topics, ideas, and thoughts. Yet I’ve also been brimming with the urge to regurgitate all this half-digested spiritual intake. I feel like a spiritual bivalve.
The warning signs are starting to crop up, telling me to slow down, step back, and just be. Just let it all process thoroughly, slowly, and easily. My sinuses are getting agitated. The pressure is increasing in my temples. My body is like a coiled cobra looking for a place to strike. Yet trying to place these words into this post is like strolling through a pond of molasses in combat boots. With all this “stuff” that feels a need to release, I figured it would come spewing from my fingers through the keyboard onto the screen like a fire hose, but it feels like that drip that continually echoes in your sink, interjecting its incessantly aggravating cadence throughout a sleepless night.
I’m pressing, wringing, and squeezing this tube to get this bit out before I check out, but I have to get it out. It’s like pulling out a splinter, where you keep digging at it until it’s completely out, lest you keep rubbing it the wrong way as a sordid reminder that it lives under your skin. You just want to feel the relief of the tweezers extracting the splinter while it tries to find purchase in any way possible to ensure it can stay in its new home.
Maybe I’m selecting metaphors that will force me to sneeze out this creative spiritually contemplative angst. Maybe I need to get it out so I can rest easily. I keep looking at the clock to see how much downtime I have before bed. It is the ultimate in anti-relaxation.
This is one of my frequent and great challenges in life. To breathe in the moment. To not feel so full of complying to compulsion, a compulsion that seems to exist merely for itself. It feels as if I would miss an opportunity to fill the moment with expression.
I need to remind myself that each moment is threaded to the next, that the moment never leaves, that we never leave the point of now, yet the moment is forever eluding us, escaping us. It moves like water, where it never maintains the same form. The moment is merely eternal change.
So where does this come from? What pushes me to fill and purge, but with such a sense of urgency? Is this passion? Where I feel so compelled to release onto this blog? Where I cannot rest until I have done so, ignoring all the flares and signals and signs and flashers that I need to take heed and be still? I’m playing that just one more cookie game, where I have to release just a bit more before taking a rest. For now I will resign myself to the idea that I will be on this rollercoaster of absorb and release. I can say I rode through a bit more discomfort to feel like I did not fall behind… in what, I don’t know.
So now I rest.