Why sometimes does caregiving feel part of a flow, not effortless exactly but free of the stickiness of resistance, and other times not? Today the thought of going up to Salem and doing whatever it is I’ll do for my sister feels like donning a neoprene suit in sweltering heat with no body of water in sight.
Is there a trick of mind that could turn the latter state into the former? A practice of the heart that could cool the hot refusals?
And then on my (sweltering) walk with Finn look what I find! The ultimate symbol of freedom, even if fallen from a bird that rarely resorts to flight and has all the grace of a velociraptor (I speak, of course, of our neighborhood turkeys).
Here’s the miracle for the day. I return to a message from my sister: if you don’t want to come today, please don’t. It’s okay!