I reflect, sometimes, upon what I've written here. I'll have pondered and typed and posted, and then felt uncomfortable about the way I phrased a sentiment or stated a view.
a statement I made yesterday has been niggling away at me, and I need to modify it's stark declaration.
I stated that I've forgotten what abundance feels like.
too much of the time I have; the world is tossing ugly news around like a giant badminton game rife with dirty, gray, hopeless birdies. war, depression, pain, death, negative indicators, joblessness and hopelessness, recession, inflation, climate change, resolute despots and bickering politicians . . . and then my own personal loss has added to this low-hanging, oppressive atmosphere so that I have, for great chunks of time, forgotten how to connect with an understanding of abundance.
however, I do still feel abundance, more often than the collective me realizes.
I feel it when leaning back on my couch, looking out my windows and watching thick flakes of snow float down to the earth.
I feel it when listening to my favorite songs on my ipod, when my heart swells and my body wants to move with the rhythm and my voice aches to burst into song.
I feel it in the library, surrounded by so many thousands of books that I realize I will never, ever want for a story to fuel my soul.
I feel it when I look at the snow covered mountains that surround our valley, steadfast and decisive and resolutely in place for hundreds of mere mortal lifetimes.
I feel it when I see tiny shoots of spring green grass hiding under the weary and worn surface of my lawn.
I feel it when I have time, opportunity, and a soft and gentle couch upon which to curl up with jake's blanket and ugly doll and take a nap.
I know abundance. I feel it, it's familiar and valued, and I know that once the world recaptures its breath and rights itself, we will all, once again, feel it more deeply and truly and consistently.
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