Unrushable, unbefuddled

Tears almost came today, like little crocuses almost in bloom, their gaily colored heads a sound premonition to what follows. I felt again that knot of confusion, that club foot that prevents dancing and singing in all earnestness. I saw the line over which I have not yet leaped, the line I draw around myself like a self-constricting spell circle. Silly and confused, not too sure as to where to put my energies, worried, and therefore sad. The line stretches out directly from little moments of unsureness, little questions as to how long happiness will last, as to when elation will burst and recklessly spent emotion implode. I'm remembering Moses, wandering with a mass of worried people behind him.

I'm longing for life in which we laugh will our entire belly, cry easily for joy and awe, eat delicious food with relish until just hunger is satisfied, sleep with abandon and yet without relinquishing consciousness, sing frequently, and most of all, not worry about what's to come, how we'll fare and what we're doing with our lives. Nature does all these things, and the songbirds and peeping frog attest to it all day and night as Spring unfolds itself. And it does so ever so slowly, without the tremendous bang we expect of it after Winter. It takes time to utilize every moment for what part it plays, like my cats who can never understand the haste I employ in walking from point to point. They would rather experience their time on earth as one great existing, and not draw funny lines around what seems necessary or not. Life without confusion, without self-censure, just dignity. I pray for it, and I'll gladly work toward it, waiting for the time and place for my unripened crocus tears.