Being Mindful

I tried to be mindful the other day.

I tried to look for silence, I tried to keep myself anchored  in the moment, in order that I could appreciate the beauty that was happening in my life.

It’s difficult, as I’m sure you all know.  It really is.  And it’s not that I don’t treasure the amazing ticks of the minutes that tumble, giggly and screaming around me, because I do.  But it’s difficult, to hold myself there, to anchor myself to the enjoyments that are surrounding me, in the present.

The mind, she just doesn’t stop.  It pings from one subject to the next, crashing against thoughts that sprout unbidden against slumbering dreams not yet mature enough to appear.  It is, without a doubt, exhausting.

So, as I mentioned, I tried the other day, in the early morning, when the house held less people, to relax ‘mindfully’ in the hot tub.

I sat there, floating in the warm water, attempting to become one with the sensation of calm serenity, I tried to become one with the insistent pull of comfort that only the hot tub could offer.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Water sounds please join me, sooth me, be one with me.

Water.  Only Water.  Breathe in, breathe out.

This could be a good blog.

No!  No!  Stop it!

Empty your mind.

All of this could be part of a blog.  Couldn’t it?  That would work, right?   I think it could work.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Is it time to get out yet?

Wait!  Did I pay that Rogers bill?  Darn, I need to check that on the internet.  I should have called so-and-so the other day, need to do that, can’t believe what so-and-so said at work the other day.  Man, oh man, my back hurts.  Will this water help the bags under my eyes?  I should try cucumbers, or was it potatoes under the eyes.  I think it clears the bags, or dark circles, which is it?  Wonder if I can have a short nap before everyone comes today.  The garden looks like shit, if I put some mulch around the trees will that look better?  Maybe people won’t notice.  I hate the bags under my eyes.  I hate the serious cellulite on my legs.  Why don’t men have cellulite on their legs?  Is it only me that sees that as unfair?  Is it wrong to be tired when I’ve only been up for less than an hour?  Hey!  Was that a hawk over there?  That!  Would!  Be!  So!  Cool!

Breathe in, breathe out.

Wait!  Is it supposed to be: Breathe out, breathe in?  Is that the problem?

I do like the sound of the water.

Is that a bug?

And then….

I found myself on the bed, later in the mid afternoon, with my 10 month old grandson on my chest.  He was sleeping, finally, his body held tight to mine, so exhausted he was earlier, that his little legs were folding under him.

Breath in, breathe out.

His chest breathing a pattern against my own, his arms, his hands, the dimples at the creases of his wrists, his elbows so dear, tucked close to me.  I felt his hands twitching in sleep.  I tried to slow my breathing, I tried to match his own, while tufts of his white blonde hair tickled my chin, my nose.

Never let this moment end.

There it is.

There I am.

I’m in the moment.

I guess I  just had to wait for it

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