A strange distractedness is floating around, and I walk in and out of its cloud throughout the day, losing awareness then regaining it suddenly. Wow, it’s so easy to space out! I have to MAKE myself go outside and smell wet leaves; today I picked up a lemon-yellow sycamore leaf the size of a plate that shocked me awake and catalyzed awe.
In the spacy zone, “I am grateful” seems like a distant sentiment rather than the state of perpetual aliveness I crave on a daily basis. Here in California, the grass is green, many leaves remain on trees, but progressively chilly nights are stunting the plant kingdom into a stupor: to grow or not to grow? My body is lulled as well. To be alert or not? I don’t want as much. But does that mean I must be unconscious?
I’m contemplating the prospect of heaping mounds of food coming soon to Thanksgiving tables. And the out of body experience that typically follows. How odd it is that we celebrate abundance in a way that actually dulls us. Even throughout the year, we can’t use all the nourishment we eat, and arrogantly complain about how hard it is to lose weight.Â
I’m not apologizing for what I have, but looking for a way to stay deeply in touch with my actual needs, and that they are always met. Contemplating this humbles me, and this helps me enter gratitude. When I walk into the fuzzy cloud and lose touch, I must drop right down into the here, the now. Then I can see again, feel again, and find connection. A yellow leaf as big as a plate! Thank you! It’s the connection that facilitates gratitude.