Meaning in the Mundane

I cannot focus today. All the stuff in my brain is in the way. I cannot work today. Can't keep track of it all, my brain is too small. I cannot smile today. The world is weighing me down. I've got to get out of this town. Got to run with the wind at my back through the fields Got to swim in the clearest crisp waters Got to ride on horseback through the cool green woods Got to feel, got to live, got to be No more of this stress No more of the hurry No more of the ever-persistent worry I just want to fly I just want to soar Higher than ever I've soared before O'er puffy white clouds Past migrating geese I want to splash down into salt water seas Want to swim with sea turtles, Slide with grey seals I just want to know how all of this feels. I cannot stay here today. All the dreams in my head cause my thoughts to stray I cannot focus today. I'll daydream the day away.

I'd like to sail away today on a ship run on stardust and rainbows We'd sail along o'er sparkling seas Where dolphins and whales dance about Occasional mermaids are spotted afar as they leap from the sea out into the sun. We'd anchor the ship along islands where bright colored butterflies flutter through tropical leaves Lizards would live there The friendliest kind Whose scales are soft And whose colors are vibrant They'd gracefully glide 'cross the sand on the beach Stopping to hide 'neath the shade of the palms Occasional crabs would poke out their heads And they'd grab at the seagull's food with their claws. Then back to their homes they would creep with their loot And the seagulls would caw and mourn their lost meal as they circled about in the clear blue sky, diving down toward the water when silver fish lept In the shimmering waves of the crisp cool sea And the warmth of the sand would feel nice neath my b...

Head spinning Vision blurring Racing, racing, racing, racing Heart pounding Legs shaking Racing, racing, racing, racing Mouth dry Palms sweaty Racing, racing, racing, racing Get it all done Finish on time Racing, racing, racing, racing Do it all well Get it done right Racing, racing, racing, racing Stop. Listen. What sounds do you hear? Cars Zooming by Birds Softly chirping Stop. Look. What sights do you see? Sunlight Filtered through Green Tree leaves Stop. Feel. What sensations do you feel? Warm Sun on skin Breeze Gently blowing Stop the racing, racing, racing Listen. Look. Feel. Be.

Boredom is grey. Dreary. Long. Drawn out. Draining. But... It leaves time for the dust to settle. Time for the thoughts to simmer. Thoughts that are often Pushed to the back of my brain Now Linger. Time for processing. For mulling over The events of the day, of the week, of the month. The hurts that stung, The joys that delighted, The puzzles that puzzled me deep down inside. In boredom they float To the surface once more They percolate And drip Down Through the filters in my mind Like balls in hungry, hungry hippos When The balls are sorted and then come to rest Inside their respective hippos So my thoughts are sorted into their homes In moments of boredom comes rest And yet So often when I am bored It agitates me Irritates me Infuriates me Drives me to seek out something to do Something to distract From all of the thoughts inside my head Instead of allowing them To sit, To sort, To settle.      

As a babbling brook ripples over smooth pebbles so language runs over my tongue. The stones are set free by the waters to tumble and roll as they travel downstream. And my tongue rolls freely through icy cold waters refreshed as they splash all about it. In the water the stones can express themselves through motion. The current allows them to brush against others - bumping a friendly hello as they glide through the crisp cold creek. Without it they're stuck in the dusty dry earth. Lifeless and dull they're abandoned by silence. The wind cannot blow them toward neighboring stones. But when the dam breaks and the waters rush through, the pebbles come alive to once more dance in the stream.

Routine seems to loom like a dark cloud over my Sunday evenings. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach reminds me that Monday is coming. My anxieties start to bubble up along with my self-doubt. Will I be able to handle everything that Monday throws at me? Where will the energy to face Monday's challenges come from? And the voices in my head curse routine and its monotony. Its bland and mundane gray existence. "What does it mean?" the voices scream out, "All this trudging around day in and day out." In the panic, I forget that routine is my friend. That with each passing week, as my Mondays become more and more routine, they also require less and less energy. Less and less thought. Less and less panic. They become second nature. A tool in my toolbox, routine empowers me to glide through tasks that I once stumbled over. I can rest in routine. Suddenly, routine is no longer the cause of my Sunday freak-out, but the antidote to my Sunday self-doubt.

Wind. Exemplary of the way in which two opposing things can both simultaneously be true.  Comforting as it cools off hot humid days.  Beautiful as it swishes through our hair, blows fall leaves about, sways through the branches of the trees.  Gentle as it brushes our cheeks and glides across lakes.  Invisible to the naked eye, though it can be felt and heard.  Empowering, allowing kites to fly and flags to wave proudly. Inconvenient as it blows sand in our faces and turns umbrellas inside-out.  Commanding as it directs the clouds and dictates the course of the sailboat. Powerful, knocking down trees and ripping the roofs off of houses.  Beautiful and Invisible. Comforting and Terrifying.  Empowering and Inconvenient. Gentle and Powerful.  Wind.