We bought a lift for motorcycles the other day–solid steel, few moving parts, dependable and immensely helpful.  With this shelf that rises to waist level, there is no pressure on the knees to bend and look inside the intricacies of repairing a scooter.

I need a lift.  An easy lift to rise above the bumping and scraping and crabby and crankiness that accompanies the complete lack of control.  Timing, over-commitment and no visible signs of support collide like a nuclear reaction inside me.  Keeping me awake, fueling the frantic, maurading mind.

There are no timetables in nature–everything happens in perfect time.  Dawn waits for nothing, nobody.  Yet some days barely rises at all.  There is no schedule for the birds to begin their giggling chatter.  There are no yardage lines in the open field beyond right and wrong.  The sun rises each second of the day as Gaia slowly twirls in dervish elation.

Here and now.  There and then.  In the sky, on the ground, the path reaches my heart.  The Way soothes my soul.  Each slow long breath reminds me of Her grace and comfort–her sweet warm whisper at the nape of my neck:  “I am here.  I am now.”