Yesterday, much like the day before, was a day of putting off everything. Yesterday, much like the day before, was a series of nearly forgotten 'to-dos.' Piled up, as they do, until the day was gone. What a sense of accomplishment I gain from checking all the boxes and pushing all the buttons!
Yet today I am burdened with a general malaise. That malaise has finally led me to write. I've been telling myself that I need to write more, sing more, play more, exercise more, and most of all I must more more. However, this malaise is reminding me that truly I need to less more. Antoine de Saint Exupéry speaks of perfection:
"In anything at all, perfection is finally attained not when there is no longer anything to add, but when there is no longer anything to take away, when a body has been stripped down to its nakedness."
How will we judge ourselves at the end? Will we sum all the errands, count all the paid bills? More likely we will weep. Weep for that one time we said: "I meant to, but …"
Will we despair for what was lost? Rejoice for what was gained? Play tit-for-tat with those who 'wronged' us. Will we wonder how we will repay those who helped us?
"Wash me completely from my evil, and purge me from my sins! Remove these obstacles from my path!" I may cry. But it is not the God(s) 'out there' that must act. It is 'I' that must act. Clinging to my coverings, ashamed of divinity, I must tear the temple veil. Removing the old covenants that no longer serve. In this season of darkness, I must again return to the center, the core, the holy of holies, and find my perfection.
