Winter's First Storm

I bring it all to the mat. The exhaustion pulling deep in the limbs. The words knotting across the back like an elastic band tightening: the blame, frustration, anger and despair. The first cold of winter that brings snot and hoarse throats and a deep desire to curl up in woollen blankets and watch the steam rise from tea cups. The erratic mind endlessly checks off its lists, planning tasks, chewing over unsolved moments. The Narrating mind documents each moment colouring experience with emotion, layering it with meanings past and present. All of it comes to the mat.

I sit in silence.

Maybe nothing is achieved. Or maybe everything.

Whatever it is, I bear witness.

In silence, the mind does not cease. It is like sitting still in the middle of a hurricane- pure madness to stay present whilst the winds lash, the rains soak, and lightening terrorises. I stay. I sit. I bear witness.

After, the world seems slower.

What a relief to find, in the stretch and breath, that life is in fact, only this moment. In the release of the expectation of what should be, is the exquisite freedom to relish all that is.


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