The cosmos have conspired to turn me all apostle on you.
An apostle for what? For who? I wish I knew. Seventy-one post ideas sit on my Trello board now. Random.org tells me which one to write. Odd for a guy who rarely knows where his keys are at a given moment to be so Rain Man about the writing process.
It’s led me to these topics lately:
Crunch time in parenting
Holy hell, y’all. I feel like a cheese-eating, poor man’s Aristotle lately.
On Feb. 2, Deborah Weber of Temenos of the Blessing Light wrote about Groundhog Day – or more eloquently, cross-quarter day – in a post titled Winter Marches On. It’s on the midpoint of Equinox and Solstice, a season behind us and that day you can probably do amazing things like balance an egg on its tip at exactly 11:11.
A.M. and P.M. (Don’t quote me on this.)
Since, the concept of a seasonal wheel in constant motion stayed in constant motion in my mind. Not just the seasonal wheel that brings canker worms then kudzu then brilliant leaves then bare trees to disc golf courses, changing their composition and character.
Those shifts in light and air and climate are easy to see if you’ll just look up.
A million more happen undetected. Not just the life cycle of the downy woodpecker, guys.
We’re talking those cosmic shifts in our lives that nudge us this way or that way, a constant motion we can be present for or even influence, but ultimately are there for the ride only. I have visions of hope on this ride.
I see the shapes on the horizon, figures behind frosted glass.
I know what I hope them to be. Faith becomes stock for the journey, your staples and compass. It’s religious faith, personal faith, faith in the red string that binds us to our destinies. It’s navigating the darkness and light.
It’s that harmony that exists in every moment, even those in silence, in doubt, or just those when you’re searching a forest thicket for a bright yellow golf disc.
What should I do?
I will turn my face to the sun by getting out in the sun – even if the air is heavy.
I’ll play different disc golf courses with different discs.
I’ll walk fast but notice more.
I’ll curse the bad throw and then delve into the challenge it creates.
I’ll leave work on time, so that I can drive home in the sunlight.
I’ll leave for work early, so I can drive just after sunrise, and get in a round before work.
I won’t condemn the heat or the noise or the silence, because it won’t be long before I’ll wish for cool or quiet or laughter. And when they come, I’ll stay in that moment, too.
The thought of it all as I sit here between dinner and midnight snack, in quiet that’ll end when the kids come inside. Kind of makes me want to throw plastic with an Ephesian, quite honestly.