It is just starting to drizzle. Thank God. Something about the rain gives me permission to rest. I know. It's not like I need permission, but sometimes it helps.
It is 6:45pm. I am in my old (15 years or so old) Abercrombie, men's sweatpant, pink fuzzy socks with the elastic at top worn out, and a short sleeve Larry Steele Basketball T-shirt that says STAFF in block letters across the back. I am lying in the bed I didn't make this morning, looking out at the laundry I haven't put away yet, and likely won't put away until sometime tomorrow. Maybe.
We almost wrapped up the last of our moving -- all items that were in our floating home, are now in one of two storage units, and what didn't fit so well into the storage units appears to be scattered throughout our 600 sf apartment that we call "home" for probably about 3 more months. Not quite sure how that happened.
Maybe one more trip to the house and then storage unit. Oh, but first I must go to the storage unit to empy my whole car of its current contents from my last trip to the house. IN.hale.
Tired. Sore. Surrounded by disorganization.
Breathing deeply. Trusting. BEing the eye of this storm of chaos, busyness, exhaustion, exhilaration, and Life. Being the eye of this storm that, at the moment, happens to be my life.
Nervous, too. Did I mention that? We are moving to end of the road... where we are building our home, small farm, retreat center, and "hub" for the work we do together, and the life we have been creating since we met more than 9 years ago.
It's scary. All of this change.
I was lying on the living room floor of the floating home today, post-vacuuming, feeling the tired in my bones and already missing that little house that becomes someone else's tomorrow at 5 pm. It's scary to move out of the city for me. It's a little anxiety-driving to think about growing a garden, tending to my goats, horse, chickens. Just recently I have begun to "feel" what it will feel like when we are finally in. My life will become more contained on the land. I will travel to the city less. I just know this. I already wonder if I will be lonely. If visitors will come regularly, or only once in a long while. How will it all be for us? The wanderings of wondering swirl around me. Will you come? I hope you do.
Breating deeply. Trusting. BEing the eye of this storm of chaos, busyness, exhaustion, exhilaration, and Life.
I just glanced back up at the title: When I Need It Most.
That'd be now.
What does that mean? It means to remember that I am not my things. My house we just sold or the house we are building. I am not the places I teach. I am not what you see, or others see, or what anyone wants to see or avoids seeing. I am not more because I am remembered, or less because my career has become a quiet devotion in a place where there is no cell service nor internet. I am not more when people "like" what I share on Facebook. I am not less if what is most meaningful to me receives no head knods, thumbs up or "shares". I am not a better teacher when there are 20 in my class and a lesser teacher when there are 3. I am not more worthy when my bed is made or my laundry is put away. I am not less worthy when my recycling overflows into a bag beside the bin. I am not these things.
I am whole. Full. Complete. Came from it. Exist in it (fullness that is). And all of us, shall return to it.
ॐ पूर्णमदः पूर्णमिदं पूर्णात्पुर्णमुदच्यते
पूर्णश्य पूर्णमादाय पूर्णमेवावशिष्यते
ॐ शान्तिः शान्तिः शान्तिः
Om Puurnnam Adah
Puurnnashya Puurnnam Aadaaya
Om Shaantih Shaantih Shaantih
When I need it most is when I forget.
The forgetting happens less than it used to. But from time to time, I still forget:
From fullness all things come
To fullness all things return
Never was there a time that fullness was not present
Never is there a time, or will there ever be a time when fullness is not present
We come from fullness, exist in fullness, and return to fullness.
Fullness is all there is.