Why is it that so many mornings–well, many moments–I feel like I am anchored deep in melancholic molasses?  The day stops.  Birds keep on chattering, crows complaining, traffic rolling in the distance.  And I sit with a pouting stubborn cranky child inside my old aching body.

“I don’t want to do ANYTHING!!” she screams, fighting it all: the simple change of the day, plans for the future, preparation for change.

A deep breath.  I am open, gentle, loving and accepting that I am restless, irritable, cranky and discontent.  I am sad, mad, frustrated, unprepared, worried, anxious and overwhelmed.  The heart and mind shake hands, friends on the path.

And a prayer.  Dear One.  Sweet One.  Blessed Spirit of All That Is and Isn’t, I claim Your Presence.  I sit in Your room, this room, lean on Your song, this birdsong and share Your Breath, Your Peace and Your Grace.

And so it ever is.  As it was in the beginning and ever shall be.