Dear friend,
Enough is a powerful word. It pairs wonderfully with both yes and no.
Yes, I have enough.
No thank you, I have enough. And I've also had enough. My mind is tired of sifting and categorising and trying to understand. My inner child is asking my inner adult to please shut the fuck up.
I don't want to think about war, or terrorism, politics or religion. I don't want to process more rhetoric on white privilege or feminism or the patriarchy (and you know how I love to bitch about the patriarchy). I'm tired of worrying about what is happening to our beautiful planet. I'm sick to the stomach of news about the latest humanitarian, environmental, social or economic disaster. And I sure as hell have had enough things advertised to me to last me a couple of thousand lifetimes. (How on earth have we built an entire industry on the premise that people need to be told what to buy? Seems like we have no problem doing that all on our own.)
I don't want to answer another single phone call with an offer for more insurance, more security, more money. Paranoia is not a selling point for me, besides it's much cheaper to replace a bicycle than a Benz. And anyhow, I don't want to hear that I can't put trust in my fellow human beings. I don't want words of caution, or logic, or rationalisation. I'm tired of sifting through answers to questions I haven't asked.
I don't want to hypothesise about parallel dimensions, alien invasions, soul journeys or karmic debt. If we're secretly controlled by some evil reptilian race that feeds off our fear and hatred for each other, I'm better off not hearing any more about it. Speaking of hatred, I would also like to erase the concepts of separation, of us and them, of the enemy, along with our fear of that most terrifying of things: The Other.
When did different become dangerous?
While I'm getting rid of all these classifications, let me just mention that I've had enough of labels too. I might look like an extra small, but don't you dare tag me as such. I've wrestled with my shadow enough times to know that she is a mean little bitch - and I love her for that. So label me if you must, but I cannot take responsibility for her reaction.
Enough with the noise and the distractions.
I have more than enough, and the world seems determined to keep me from noticing. Please, my inner five year old pleads, please can we remember that we are here and alive and real?
Please can we stop just mindlessly going through the motions and stop to smell the coffee brewing? Can we please do away with the niceties; I want to hear more about the real stuff. The hard stuff. The heartache of losing someone you love, the hardship of life on the street, the raw humanity that connects us? And when we've done that, and we've shed the necessary tears, can we get up and make tea and laugh about that time when you were locked in the bathroom and you had to call the neighbour through the window to come and rescue you?
Please can we take the time to feel the autumn rays, and marvel at the leaves changing colour? If you're lucky and observant enough, you notice them falling and see how they dance on their way down. Please can we laugh more? Play more? Sing more? Dance more?
Can we remember that, contrary to all the distractions and paranoia and fear, we are actually free?
I am free to choose where I focus my thoughts, and my choice is to focus it here and now, in the tangible reality that I find myself in.
"And some, like me, are just beginning to guess at the powerful religion of ordinary life, a spirituality of freshly mopped floors and stacked dishes and clothes blowing on the line."
_Adair Lara
Or, in my case, a spirituality of overflowing ash trays and half finished projects. It's the realness of it that is the greatest comfort - the smells, the feels, the sounds. The continuous blessing of breath and rain dripping on the porch. How amazing would it be if we could meet each other here and now, fully, and marvel at this crazy ride that is life and wring every last drop of joy out of it? Here is enough. Now is enough.
All my love,
Maria
xx