I read the news. I feel myself holding my breath. I am afraid. I am exhausted. I catch my held breath and I exhale, lean back. I breathe deeply, in and out. I make myself breathe slowly. I count.
I think, “I am a little thing, within it all, and that is okay.”
I remember a memory, a fleeting feeling of safety, a moment that I trusted the currents of Time, and did not resist my small life floating along. One leaf on the river, headed to the sea.
I try to be where I am. I listen to the rain. I breathe. I breathe. Birds sing in the naked trees. My cat trills as she jumps up to sit by me. Her soft, silver and white face nudges my hand as I write.
I pray for justice, and kindness, and healing, and discernment. I pray for peace and understanding. I pray to Everything, casting out love into a seemingly indifferent void.
When I wonder if it’s enough, if my work is enough, if I am enough, I remember the Way: “Do your work, then let go. The only path to serenity.” So I work, and I let go.
My work is loving this world. I slow down, and notice it loving me back. I watch as the Mystery weaves the vast, perfect web of the Universe: the good and evil, the doing and undoing, the playfulness and terror of one vast becoming. I try to trust how innocently existence conspires to harmonize: us little things, along with everything else.