I wake up tangled and already frustrated. Damn it, I thought I’d cleared that overwhelment thing! I grumble to myself. I scan through my day ahead and want to yell at my past self for not getting better aligned with this project. I want to engage in regret. I want to crawl back into bed. I make coffee instead, and find myself just staring out the window at the fog slowly drifting across the graveyard. My baby-est grandson, lying on the floor starts to coo. I am cooing with him without thinking of it, just kind of windily droning along with him while I watch the fog. The hot water kettles starts to boil and I almost jump into making the coffee but when I checked in, I didn’t quite want to leave the fog/coo thing I was relaxing into. The cooing turned more droney. All one note. The fog started to turn pale pink, then warm salmon. The drone turned to toning. I found myself rocking slowly, and somehow the baby is in my arms, now laughing. As I watch, the fog suddenly lights fire, a golden thread racing across the land. I turn to my grandson and whisper, did you see that?
As my hand moves to pour the hot water I hear, from that deep merged place, there are always joy ways available to you no matter where you are.
Ah. I remember that I was in a tangle of dark overwhelm and grump not 20 minutes ago and here I am light, relaxed, receiving guidance and in a golden haze of wonderment. I’d found a joy way up, through. I have sometimes thought of these as play elevators.