Today I am Writing: On Rest

It is Sunday, in the setting sun. I am sitting on my porch, encased in a giant sweater, after a day of good but not-much-time-to-think-about the things that feel-important-to-think-about.

I sat down here with a stack of journals, the last five plus the current one. There is something I am trying to figure out and I thought maybe the journals would help.

As I read, I find some helpful words, I remember some moments that felt particularly key in my continuous coming-to-know of myself. But after a while, I notice that my brain feels very very tired. It feels as if it is twisting around itself, which--I notice--hurts.

In truth, I am an inveterate trying to figure it out type. I have sat on this porch many an hour, attempting to wrap my brain around the inveterate questions of what should I do and what should I not. Until recently, I thought that this was wisdom at work. I called these contemplative moments Rest, and I made space for them in the inveterate quiet of my life.

I called them rest, that is, until I began to notice that more actually those restful moments could more rightly be called paralysis, the numbed out fear of I have to have an answer to the what should I do and what should I not and it is up to me to figure it out and if I don't, then...

(Thinking thinking thinking, weighing out my choice with the consequence. Since when did fear become equated with rest?)

I think of the friend who spoke into my quiet way of being, saying "I just perceive you as so wound up...". I think of how I would have scoffed, except for how I saw straight into that paralysis that he was so so right.

And then I think of the Friend who spoke into that wound-up-ness one day, saying "Rest is where I AM..." and how this changed things for me, how I laid down what I was carrying and climbed right into His very very Presence.

So today, I sat down here with the stack of journals until I noticed my hurting brain, and then I remembered the Rest baby. Rest.

And now the sun has set and my sweater feels like not enough and I have spent all this time, trying to figure it out instead of climbing straight into I AM? Enough, I say; enough.