Boundaries

Time is treasure and I get to choose with whom and how I meter out that gold. A minute spent in distressing or disagreeable company is a minute I never get to relive…except in the memory file labeled “WASTED”. It’s almost full, that file. Sixty-seven years of days and minutes and hours and I do not know how much room, or time, is left. I cannot afford more waste.

So, I pay attention. Paying attention slows me down and slowing down gives my brain time to synchronize with my mouth so I don’t spill out an unintended “yes” to another request for my time. “I’ll get back to you” is a good phrase to remember.

In slowing down, I notice how my body feels around other people. I notice if I am holding my breath or gripping the steering wheel or chewing the skin on the side of my nails. A deep breath or two and I come back to center. This is the place I call my own; where I am soft and tenuous as a fragile fern frond eternally unfurling.

The mystery lies within and speaks a language of its own that only I can feel. I hear it with my skin and it sets the rhythm of my heart. It sings me a love song that settles below the surface of knowing and guides me to the holy place where I began.