First One Down

by

I did it.

I got my first paper of the semester written and turned in.

It was a small guy, five pages.

I was a bit resentful of it for a few days.

First, fucking christ, the first weekend of classes was last weekend, give me a god damn minute to have some time off.

Second, I got a notification yesterday that it was due at 4p.m. today.

What the fuck?

Four p.m.

Listen.

I have a god damn life, I have things to do, and this day, this was my first day off in two weeks, two, and you’re giving me a hard limit of 4p.m.?

Fuck.

Ugh.

Yeah.

So that I found annoying.

But.

I told myself to shut the fuck up and do the fucking work.

I also let myself sleep in.

I was on the phone late last night with my best friend and my God, do we know how to talk, like two highschool girls on a school night dishing all the things, I could talk forever with my friend, it is always so hard to say goodbye, goodnight, until we talk again, it never feels like it is soon enough before we can talk again.

I was going to go to an early morning yoga class, but decided to just let myself sleep and maybe I would catch an afternoon yoga class after I had written the paper, or maybe nothing, fuck it, fuck yoga, fuck it all.

Except.

Well.

Ha.

My body had other ideas.

Sometimes my feet are smarter than my brain.

I did miss the early yoga class, but I woke up in plenty of time to hit the 10:30 a.m. class.

I still got up and out of bed thinking, telling myself that I wasn’t going to go, I would use the extra time to write my paper, or maybe doing my Morning Pages, God knows I have had plenty of fodder for writing.

Oh my god the amount of morning writing I have done while I have been going through my recent experiences, so much.

But I am grateful for the outlet, grateful for the pen on the paper, the feel of the pen moving across the lines, the words tumbling out, prayers and affirmations, gratitude lists, longings and dreams and desires, all of it, bumbled down on my Claire Fontaine notebook and then a little sweet sticker next to my entry, a way to mark my heart on the page, a mandala, a rose, a butterfly, a baby bunny, something small and sweet to tell me where my heart lies in between the words the dance of magic and poetry that I sense is still there just waiting for the right moment to spring forth again.

Like Athena from the mind of Zeus.

All the poesie and love and magic, the passion, the words, so many words of love and adoration I have.

So many.

Ah.

I digress.

See, I think of love and poetry and get lost.

Adrift in worlds of magic and sorcery and the poetics of my life, the romance.

My God.

The romance of it.

Sometimes, yes, it is a little dark, a lot emotional, a kind of deep swooning romance that is historic and deep and has an uncanny beauty writ large in the stars, the blue moon waxing full.

But it is so beautiful and I am so grateful for it, the gift of it.

Seared into me.

Pierced into me.

Literally.

As such, I was compelled to let myself write, but instead I found myself putting on my yoga clothes and then signing up for the 10:30 a.m. class.

My feet had better ideas than my head.

And I am so glad I went.

It was a terrific class, I got to do a lot of heart openings, as though my heart has not been opened enough of late, but it was good, and hard and painful and when I felt stuck, I just breathed through it harder and thought of the love I had and sent it out into the world.

I thought of wrapping my love around my love, a warm cloak, a blanket, I pictured the sun surrounding me and then held my love in my arms, buried my face in the back of his head and then smelled the nape of his neck and I started to cry in yoga.

Sigh.

Truth be told.

I did not mind.

It felt good, a washing of love, a rendering of myself in the moment, a supplication, a surrender to the feeling, to let it go as I lay prostrate on the mat.

And the sensory feeling of putting my arms around the love of my life and covering him with love was so relieving too, as though I could buffet his heart with my love.

It felt right and good even though it felt sad too, just to have another moment to hold him close to me, even if imagined, even in revery, felt so good and real and right.

So.

Yes.

Grateful I got out to yoga.

And then did all the other things.

Shower, breakfast, reading, writing, working with a new lady who came over to the house and we met and read things and talked about life and recovery and doing the deal and that was fantastic.

And when she left.

I got to it.

I pulled out my books and notebooks and syllabus and I got into the paper.

It flowed so well and smoothly and just dropped out of my head and onto the page, well, I was a little amazed.

It just came and I edited it and read it and tidied it up and had it sent off to my professor by 3:50p.m.

Ten minutes before it was due.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Grateful as hell that I know how to write a paper.

I also collaborated with my partner in another class and mapped out the work that needs to be done for a project in that class.

I have my writing calendared for the next week, mostly next Sunday, but also some writing will have to be done Saturday too, I suspect.

And.

I have all my readings prepped for the next weekend of classes.

I will bring my books with me and again sneak in the pages and chapters when I can, where I can, in between going to and from supervision, work, internship, doing the deal, and all the other things I am juggling.

I will have my books with me and when I can, well, I’ll be reading.

It’s my last semester of my Masters program!

Holy fuck.

I have my first assignment in and done.

One tiny step forward.

One tiny march of faith into the future.

I know not where I am going.

But.

I am assured.

That it will be bright and beautiful and full of love.

Love.

Always that.

Always.

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