Contented Dazzlement

I sit on the chair with the cat, Smokey, a soft gray comma curved against my leg. I notice cool air skimming my bare toes. I feel sleepy, hypnotized by the steady march of the wall clock’s second hand. What should I write? What does the world want to hear?

I could be, should be, doing chores: vacuuming, laundry, culling unnecessary plastic objects from the closets.

To an observer, I’m doing nothing. Yet I feel so full, like the Mississippi river, fluctuating underneath with powerful currents of possibility.

In the past few months I’ve been following the still, small voice within. It’s as though I am knitting a complex lace shawl with many colors. I knit the pattern for a few repeats, and then I pause until the next part of the pattern becomes clear and knit that. When I look back, I see the design more clearly. The question is which color thread to pick up next, and how to weave it into my life.

“Statistically, the probability of any one of us being here is so small that you’d think the mere fact of existing would keep us all in a contented dazzlement of surprise.”

–Lewis Thomas

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