It began in mystery and it will end in mystery, but what a rare and beautiful country lies in between.

Dear, dear Reader,

Are your Monday mornings as challenging as ours?  Most probably so, as Monday marks the beginning of most of our work weeks.  My son, Liberty, always feels awful, just dreadful, on Monday mornings.  I get up on weekdays earlier than I’d like in order to get our homeschooling days up and running, and I feel rather dreadful, myself.  I hope you are laughing with me!

“Courage!” dear reader.  “Courage!” I tell myself — I’d like to say this to Liberty, too, but I know I’d get “the eyebrow”.  I think you know what I mean.

Truly, although Monday mornings are often awful, how wonderful it is to have a safe home, the freedom to be with and to educate my son, and enough health and heart to live it.  There is plenty of food in the house, and all is well.  Or, well enough.  I hold in my heart, too, those who do not have these things.  How fortunate we are, those of us who have this.

Whatever challenges you face, whether a new Monday morning, or something much more serious, be encouraged. Cor, from which we get the word courage, means heart in Latin.  Reach down into your heart for what you know is there:  the ability to look reality in the face and the virtue to change what can be changed or to accept what cannot.  If you fear that you will not find that in your heart, then try to hope for it.  I do believe it will come;  it’s a capacity rooted in deep human experience, and this wisdom passed down throughout all of history will not fail you.  Oh, it might take some time, for sure. . . . that I also know.

So.  To look reality in the face, and to let not your heart be troubled:  your mission today, if you choose to accept it.

With love on this Monday morning,

Cat

Last night I slept very poorly. That is, I slept poorly when I slept at all.  It was really difficult to fall asleep, and just as I was drifting off, an hour and a half since coming to bed, dear spouse began shaking the bed with his hiccups!  Fortunately I was able to see the humour in the intermittent earthquakes, but was now awake enough to fully realize just how badly I hurt.  Achy arms, achy legs, really sore spots on outer hips and thighs.  I down some more meds and smear on the bengay and aspercreme, then try to get comfortable enough to get drowsy.  Deep breath in, breathe out slowly, count each breath on the outbreath.  After five breaths, repeat.

Try lying on my right side, then on back.  I don’t even try my left side.  I haven’t been able to tolerate lying on my left side for more than thirty years now, since I was in my twenties.  When I could still work a full day, and even go to a meeting in the evening.  Knees up and feet flat on sheet, then knees down.  I manage about 4 breaths before I just must move position again.  To stay still magnifies the pain unbearably.  Relaxation seems impossible.  Deep breathe in, breathe out slowly, count each breath on the outbreath.  After five breaths, or four, repeat.   This isn’t going to work.

I get up, carefully, for dear spouse is back asleep now, and position myself in the lazyboy chair brought into our crowded bedroom for just this purpose.  It’s deep into the early morning hours by now.  Sometimes lying in the lazyboy pressures my muscles a bit differently, and I can fall asleep.  Then again, sometimes I can’t, and then I walk around the house a bit, go to the bathroom whether I need to or not, and alternately feel sorry for myself, or recognize that many, many of us in this world cannot sleep through pain, or fear, or worry.  A bad night, so common among feeling souls; yet even common experiences are lived through the individual details:  comforts, pains, warmth, chill, security, fears, alone, with others also suffering.  Another long night.

I smear on some more bengay, really massaging it in this time.  Oh —- thumb joint is aching too.  Smear some liniment on the base of both thumbs.  Settle in. Can’t sit still, the pain is so bad in my legs and hips.  I squeeze and release my buttock muscles, my thigh muscles.  Squeezing in rhythm, counting, trying to distract myself, counting to one hundred squeezes now.  Okay, now I’ll try squeezing and holding.  Let go, try to relax.  No?  Squeeze and hold again.  And again.   Fifteen minutes, a half hour —- is the pain lessening?  A little, I think.  The time between squeezes lengthens a bit, then a bit more.  My mind drifts.  Ahh, I think, I must be relaxing enough now to get drowsy.  Oh blessed sleep.  Healing sleep.

An hour and a half later I’m awake again.  More bengay, more massage, more squeezing.  Drowsy, relaxed.  But am I still awake, or just dreaming that I’m still awake?  Ninety or so minutes later I’m fully awake again.  This time the bed seems inviting, like maybe I’ll be able to sleep there.  Dear spouse is not there — it must be nearing 6:00 a.m.

I doze.  And then the aches in my leg wake me.  Change position, reach for the bengay.  Start to drift off. . . . oh, back hurts.  Turn over.   Ah,  pressure relieved.  I see the sunlight through the blind now.  A little more bengay might help.  A little more massage, more conscious breathing and relaxation of muscles,  another drifting off, finally.

When according to the bedside clock the time between drift offs and wakenings comes down to 10 minutes, I give up.  I go through my morning prayer affirmations then crawl out of bed.  Try to be conscious not to groan aloud.  Slowly and carefully I pull on yesterday’s clothes, make the bed.  Slowly.  Carefully.

Good morning world.  Here I am.

No, I’m not going anywhere, unless you call going deep within “going somewhere.”  After years of reading, writing, and pondering, I’m opening up my ideas to the others who may be encouraged by these explorations.  Thank you for coming by to read a bit.  I promise more to come. . .