Christmas morning was gray for me, even though the sun lit up a cloudless robin egg sky.
Sometimes this head just gets possessed with a heaviness that I can only be with and observe until lightness finds its way.
Like flying through cloud-filled skies and coming out into the clarity and light that was always there, just not seen.
Dad was more alive on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day than he has been in weeks. What a beautiful Christmas present for my mom.
And our good friend's mom died yesterday, the day after Christmas. What a beautiful Christmas present for her. She had been working her way out of this cocoon for a long time.
Another friend and I write about a different topic each month and then share our writings with each other. I am now assigned the task of writing about "the best feeling in the world".
Contemplating "the best feeling", I have begun to see some thinning of the clouds here and there, even though any memories of luscious feelings seem so far away, like a movie I barely remember.
"Best feelings" are always right here, right now, as available as the next breath, yet sometimes brain settings can get altered giving a "heavy feelings" error message.
As I did with my recovery after surgery, I'm staying with the experience of the moment. So tired of trying to "fix" whatever comes my way. Half of the discomfort comes from wanting things to be different.
We're on our way to a snowy hike among the wildlife - one of the best feelings in the world.