The dogs are staring at me. They are willing me to take them for a walk. But I’m going to finish writing these morning pages first. It’s something I need to do. All three pages today.
Sawyer’s eyes are locked on my face like he’s influencing my thoughts with a Jedi mind trick. Harley thinks a simple Force choke will make me drop my pen.
Sorry, guys. I’m not done yet.
But they’re not settling into their waiting. Harley paws at me. Sawyer yawns at me. They pace.
The dogs are like my mind, moving around, anxious about something.
I’m working on noticing when I get distracted. I’m working on reeling my mind back into my body. My breath turns the wheel,
pulling me back in until I am close enough to focus on the scrap of light living in the center of my chest. The moment I recognize that light, it begins to expand to fill my body. It spills out into the space around me. It radiates in all directions.
I’m trying to see that light as infinite, limitless, but my mind presses up against boundaries. Solid walls it doesn’t know how to climb or dissolve. I keep practicing, though. Pushing.
I believe that at some point I’ll be able to experience the vastness of my own mind, how big I really am, how little I have to fear.
I don’t have the right words. My time is up. Three pages almost full. I’ve hit the outskirts of my imagination and my mind cascades back into itself. The spell has broken.
But I’m not done practicing.
When I walk, I see the full arc of the sky. The sun is still low, still climbing out of bed, and the light angles through the trees and warms the color of Sawyer’s fur. The dogs sniff and zig zag across the path in front of me. My lungs are full and I am right here.