I look at the clock, 4:25 am. Another week of overnights, I step outside for the fresh air. Birds wake in the charcoal silhouette of distant canopy against the fading black of sky. Busy chirping distracts the quiet while I try to collect my thoughts. I’m searching for a 15 minute epiphany.
Time stretches forever, pacing its own metronome, I can’t figure out the rhythm. Sigh. Life never really plays out in iambic pentameter. My internal dialogue always hides in wry wit when there isn’t much else to say. I miss the triplets coupled anchoring my world – those moments of clarity that kiss my forehead and point me in some direction. I do what I have always done and try to find the beat in my own words.
This listener trips over her own voice ‘cause she can’t find the pace in life. I’m a clumsy mess these days, awkward and gangly. I’ve always used my two feet, moved them one in front of the other, negotiating my way with that reprieve of dialogue between the universe and this small self – words bridging the ethereal veil planting me solid in my own life. This has been my anchor, my grace. I can’t find the connection.
The night turns periwinkle as I spin in my 15 minute break. Time’s running out for understanding. Can’t force insight. I let myself off the hook for the moment. I’m not ready to succumb to feeling lost or defeated. What I do know is I have so many questions and I feel like that child in me who connected Santa Claus with G-d. Realized all those adults were making sh!t up for so long, too many truths became lies uncovered.
“What is true here?!” I blunt out in my own head. Little gyrl meets internal dialogue I become my own 1 act play. My adult yearns to give the answers but missing all the logic. I don’t have my own answers, no pretty words to wrap up understanding, and I can see this self complicating the plot once again. And the universe is keeping its counter melody under wraps.
Adult, child, and internal dialogue fuss in the growing light. Its time to go inside and keep working.