Sunday Morning

It's a BEAUTIFUL Sunday morning!  Going out for a run, I feel INSPIRED!  (In Spirit). 

I want to write a poem, or a song, but I'm not a poet or a songwriter, although I try anyway.

I want to capture the full shining spectrum of energetic encounters I experienced along the gravel road this morning, now yesterday morning, as I went for my morning run.  

Nature rising from the ditches, reeds and toads and wildflowers.  My feet crunching whitewashed limestone, while the wind whips gently around invisible corners graciously meeting me on the path. Bliss and cooling.  Perfect summer morning joy.

Past, future, present, I feel them all, but past keeps poking in it's sneaky head.  

In come surges of Sunday mornings past.  I feel a wave of feeling.  Intense. Haunting.  Simple. Mystical. I'm seemingly in a dozen timelines at once.  I'm sipping coffee, doing the NY Times Sunday crossword, I'm watching Face the Nation, I'm drinking mimosas and having brunch at the Peabody, I'm hiking up a misty mountain, I'm gathering Queen Anne's lace and cornflower from the roadside, I'm walking, I'm dancing, I'm running.  I'm 7 and 17 and being carted off to church because it's Sunday and that's  just what we do. I'm inspired and invigorated.  I'm queasy and expiring.

 

"How do we decide how to spend our Sunday mornings?" "What rituals are we convicted to?" "How to we escape guilt and shame?" "How do we honor life and love and purpose?" These questions and more flood my mind.

Future is so difficult to imagine, what's the point. I grasp for the present. I breathe in the breeze.  It's delicious, until I hit a patch of glyphosate infused fields, the smell of poison hanging in the atmosphere as I run by.  I hold my breath and it burns my eyes.  It reminds me of home.  Sadly.  But it inspires me.  It really is meaningful.  It's in my moment and I become evermore present in the present as I run along, crushed limestone crunching beneath my snow white Nikes.

 
Sunday Morning is gone until next week, six days away.  Next week it will be the day after my first skydiving adventure.  Next week I will be home, in my hometown, surrounded by more fields and more wildflowers, more pressure to get my soul to church or saved by a singing bowl.  I'm surrounded by loving zealous believers, seemingly trying to always be telling me what to do without saying a word.  

I suppose that I am a believer too, in my own right.  Looking forward to the peace of another Sunday, perhaps just another run will do.  Choosing surrender to the emotions.  Choosing the path of letting go.  I move forward, ever so gradually, ever so slowly, still taking six days till Sunday, perhaps through tens of hundreds of timelines.

What a spectacle of grace to look forward to, whatever road I choose.  Whatever road chooses me.💜

Memory Eternal 💜 🙏 

https://www.cnn.com/weather/live-news/texas-flooding-camp-mystic-07-06-25-hnk#:~:text=The%20toll%20includes%20at%20least,still%20unaccounted%20for%2C%20authorities%20said.