After The Longest Night of the Year

I told myself I would begin again this morning.

Begin work again.

I arrived at the center, with desperation on my lips.

Partly since so much had gone unspoken. Only Bandit made the headlines.

Two of us sat in a mostly darkened room, one small lamp shining on our faces, while even the Christmas tree stood nearby in darkness. "Don't think about New Orleans," the sister counseled. "Just be present here. Do your work. Your deepening. Then you can go back, and bring that with you."

I saw another nun for the first time this morning. "How are you doing?" she asked. "Great! Obviously! I'm a freaking ray of light now." She laughed. It was inappropriate language before breakfast, I suppose.

Wake up. Freezing cabin. Antsy dog. Turn up the heat. Stumble into winter boots. The frigid walk for his relief and mine. Rapid diaper change and hand sanitizer. Brushing teeth using the water from a bottle and a garbage can to spit. Wrapped in layers for meditation. Blankets on my knees. Sitting. Hugging. The day begins.

"You upgraded to a modern cabin yet? Or still in a rustic?" a sister asked this morning. "Oh... rustic. Rustic. But you know, they've moved me from Freedom to Joy."

I am living The Pilgrim's Progress.

"Do you ever think about moving back there?"
"Sure. Every day."

You're supposed to be able to bring it with you.

We get back in the car again though, and drive back to our other homes.

In the good months, I watch the wilt set in.
In the bad ones, I forget this ever happened.

The three AM panic. The fitful hours. The bleary-eyed coffee. The encouragement to please, puppy, walk a little faster so I'm not late. The drive, up Louisiana, around the potholes.The mug of now-lukewarm coffee, carefully gripped around an armful of text book and a mindful minefield of unanswered emails, unplanned lessons, the conveyor belt of grading. Then, after. Stumbling down to sit. Bandit. Me. Diaper change. Unmoving for a moment, while he dances around, angrily, anxiously, disappointed, again.

He has certain expectations for this lifetime.
And a better memory than mine.

So, I told myself I would begin again this morning.

But sometimes, there is other work to do.

Namaste.