The bedroom window, I am convinced, is a small slice of morning heaven. The windows open out, do not bear screens, and always carry a gentle breeze through the mesh curtains. When I wake, the very first thing I do (before coffee, even) is to push these windows open. Hours later, when I'm lying down for a nice afternoon nap, the easy breeze rocks me right to sleep.
Heaven isn't with me all the time, though. Beneath the shades of happiness that color my life, there are still inner struggles to be dealt with. For instance, the battle over lethargy continues. This lethargy stems from some sort of reversed inertia, a vacuum if you will, that was turned on when school ended. It has continued to pull my motivation away, until I feel somewhat stuck, empty, tired. I say each day that I will begin a new project. Today, I will begin writing a story! Today, I will write a poem! Today, I will.... and then I end up lying in bed, reading a book. Or sitting on the porch, reading a book. Of course, this is obviously reconcilable. I mean, reading a book is terrific, and progressive in its own right. But is it an escape? Perhaps. Perhaps not. What I'm really pointing at I guess is this unwanted guest in the corner, that part of me that feels she isn't fully living. What does fully living mean, though? Are there distorted expectations of myself here?
There isn't much I can do for the next two years but wait. Naturally, there is a sense of drifting that makes me nervous and uncomfortable. For a capricorn woman, there must always be a mountain to climb, a new goal to achieve, some sort of upward and onward movement. I know that right now, this mountain and those goals don't exist. Logically, I know there isn't anything wrong with that, and that most likely, I've been filling my time beautifully. Baking bread. Painting pottery for friends. Reading Russian novels.
I have a hunch that my spirit's been needing the attention lately. The thought popped up on my radar this morning in the form of a question: where is the energy of spirit? I've built my new nest, put all things in their right places, but I didn't make a new nest for the Spirit. I have a funny little relationship with that "God" thing. It's like an imaginary friend that I use to keep around me all the time. I'd invite it over to play when I did tarot readings, when I painted or did anything creative, even when I bathed. I haven't looked about for it in a long time, since moving; I haven't invited it to visit with me. I think I've found the thirst.