Things had come to a head. My head, to be exact. They were prancing about and demanding my attention. I had decided to go home early because I could no longer feel the importance of anything. There I curled up in bed with a book and put on the radio. I think I should have taken a nap earlier in the day to maximize my productivity, but the sun coming through my westward window is gently massaging my back with its rays and I let sleep carry me away and back again.
After a while I’m hungry so I fire up the oven and put in that bread dough from yesterday even though it should rise for two days, ideally. I go back to my book and now I’m lying in full toasty sunshine. Then the sunny patch moves on to the floor, to my meditation spot. I finish the chapter and follow it, asking Alexa to stop the music. I can smell the bread in the oven as I try to meditate. And hear the crackling of the ice cubes I put in a pan under the bread because supposedly that helps make the crust extra crispy.
Just then I feel so remarkably on good terms with life and everything in it I just had to get up and try to put words to this feeling. I realize I was being too rough on myself with piles of shoulds and oughts. I had forgotten that I have to be gentle in order to hear that wisdom which speaks in a whisper, which keeps me on course like a rudder.