It is morning again, but later than usual.
Before I could sit and shake the thoughts from my fingertips, my body needed to move and be by the water; all the things needed to shift and move out of the way so that my wildness could take center stage.
My four-legged partner in crime needed it too; our feet moving faster and faster, his tongue hanging out, the slack of the leash reminding us of how connected we are. and now, I can focus, and he can chase flies around the house and keep the cats in order and eventually, rest his weary head.
The city is a weird kind of quiet and thick with smog; the words are like an opera and the thoughts roar in my ears: do the work, I keep hearing.
And there is so much of it, for building what I know to be true happens with nothing less than blood, sweat, laughter and tears and it cannot happen without me. i can feel the inner resistance—I am still so tired, and there is a part of me that would like to lie down and let the dreamworld take me, at least until summer has left us—I know that there is still much unraveling before my body reaches zero and she can rebuild herself, too and so patient I must be.
We start always from where we are; there is no other jumping off point.
Do the work; practice and all is coming.