The loons call again this morning. Less frequently, not as near, a little less mournful, and then gone. They seem to prefer the quiet stillness of just after sunrise as the first shimmers of light hit the surface of the lake. The trail to Pont de Vieu is quite rocky and wet and we are at the lookout before much time has passed at all. I expect the view and yet it is always more stunning than I remember. We climb for a bit to explore what comes next on the trail, all the while chatting about life and challenges and realities and plans. The things that excite us and the things that make us stumble or question or pause.
The fresh start is a gift we give ourselves. Pushing the restart button, powering down first. Taking a look at the usual pathways and deciding if we like them and which ones we want to keep and which ones we want to leave behind. And then creating new pathways and seeing if we like where they lead. What still works and what do we want to change? What’s missing and what needs to be pitched? What do we want more of? What can we unburden ourselves from? What things in life bring joy? How can we make more of that? Do we need to actively do more or less? Or is it just about slowing down and taking note of miracles around us? I wonder which pathways I could create that would afford more pause throughout the day.
Maybe it’s not so much that the well is dry as the pump needs priming. When it sits unused it may forget it is a pump, but this doesn’t mean there’s no water in the well. It means the pump forgot its job. The creative ember is still there, hidden under the ash, warm and waiting. It still wants to be expressed. It hasn’t left me. I have perhaps left it. I want us to come back to each other and hold each other again. I don’t realize it yet, but I am beginning to actively conjure our reunion. I am showing up.
So what we could do is sit in a hard chair with the wind moving past my right ear and water lapping below where I sit. We could notice the now warm grey tea in the robins egg blue mug off my right elbow. What could come next is some time and space for whatever bubbles up onto the page. We could try facing the blank page and moving the pen and seeing if the pain in my neck lessens at all. And maybe tell the story of loons in the early morning lake mist and then an orange sunrise and also a cool naked dip in a quiet lake and the beautiful pleasure of being alive.
All that is required is a willingness to show up and the courage to be mediocre and an acceptance that it’s not the success or brilliance or the failure of mediocrity, it is the showing up that matters. It’s bringing the pen to paper, uncapping the pen, opening the notebook, taking a breath, and then just… going. It’s not important whether my naked body looks good as it slides into the cool lake in the morning. What matters is that I move my arms and legs and stay present to the magic of water flowing all around me. What matters is the beautiful pleasure of warm sun drying my skin. What is amazing is the flow of movement through morning poses and that right here and right now being in my body and doing these things is a miracle and a gift.