Today's Quote: "Your work is to discover your work and then with all your heart give yourself to it." - Buddha
Here's what I want to know: Is it normal to be filled with a roiling, restless turmoil? My life, although quite busy, is fairly peaceful on the outside. Externally things are relatively calm and cool. But on the inside, there is much unrest. Beneath my skin, chaos reigns. This is not to say that I am unhappy. I must be clear about that. I do not consider myself at all an unhappy person. I have a husband I love deeply, three kids that I'm crazy about, a warm house in a nice neighborhood, supportive friends, reasonably good health and security. There's no doubt about it. In the concrete circumstances of my Iife, I am richly blessed.
Which is why I cannot understand the presence of this internal tumult. It fills me to overflowing, this itchy restlessness. If it had a voice it would be shouting impatiently, "Get on with it already! What are you waiting for? Stop dragging your feet!" The truth is, I wish I could get on with it. And I would get on with it -- if only I could figure out what "it" is. If only I knew the source of the restlessness and what exactly it is urging me to do.
Does it have something to do with getting older? Is it because I'm pushing 40 and still haven't figured out what I'm going to be when I grow up? As if just being who I am is not a sufficient answer to that ever looming question. Is it because I am a Jill of all trades and a Master of none? Am I longing for a real sense of success and measurable accomplishment? Is it because I have an abundance of ideas and a dearth of motivation? Is it because I am a writer who no longer writes?
I don't know the reason behind the restlessness, and even if I did I'm not entirey certain that simply "knowing" would make it stop. In fact, I'm pretty certain that knowing is not enough. I'm pretty certain that knowing is almost never enough. I'm pretty darn certain that knowing is over-rated.
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dreams for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful be realistic to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes."
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.