Mornings are not what they were. My
lovely man has begun his own morning practice of yoga and meditation. I
should be happy for him. I’m not. The world was mine at 4 a.m.
(God, how early do you have to get up to have the house to
Today morning looked like this: I get up, quietly make my drip coffee and sit on the living room floor, cross-legged. I take approximately 3.5
Then Pat comes out of our room and down
the hall. He waves to me. Sometimes I smile. Today I don’t.
In the kitchen he prepares his cappuccino by grinding his
premium beans in a premium grinder that sounds exactly like a
Shop-Vac. My eyebrows smack into each other, I am so not-peaceful. The steaming milk sounds like that kid in
The Excorcist (I want to cover my ears even while typing this). Pat
comments on his coffee while making it. “Ahhhh. Come on, come on.
That’s better, that’s good.” When he spills beans on the
floor, he swears.
I am apoplectic by the time he heads
downstairs to the basement. My meditation becomes post-traumatic
stress therapy. I’m just getting back to the busy-but-not-angry
head I started with when he re-emerges from the basement all
dewy-eyed and blissful.
All of which brings me to this: I live in a world filled with people, sounds, smells, and
cappuccino machines. Some day, somehow, my task is to learn to be
peaceful while living in that world, beyond the hermetically-sealed morning bubble in which I have practiced for just over a year. Apparently it’s
time to teach myself peace on the outside.
Have you found this easy? Difficult?
Natural? Impossible? I’d love to hear.
Thanks for choosing peace, Pat. I hope
it doesn’t drive me mad. Thanks to yoga, I think, although I’m a
bit cranky about it today. Thanks to you for the conversation,