The sense of nothing

Was it in the lack of concern for being considered cool? For being seen? Was it because I liked to sleep in? Was it my love for procrastination and self-doubt? Maybe if I focused all my energy into getting my downward dog correct or into lifting myself into crow, possibly I could tilt my world on its axis. A cup of coffee a day, caffeine to ignite some sense of purpose or drive in me. A quick walk around the yard. A bit of grounding in nature to put my views of life back into perspective. Hands on the screen door looking at the ocean on the horizon. Squinting see the outline of the neighboring islands, dinosaurs covered in clouds. Curled on the couch. The drone of some reality show contestants arguing about nothing that matters. My journal face up on the coffee table, starting at me. Me, starting back. Was there anything to write? Should I buy the Artists Way? Maybe if I did a few Morning Pages, if I scribbled and let whatever was in my brain out, I would feel IT! It would come like a shooting star and land in my lap and the angels would sing.

But I find myself starting at the mahogany trees. Sitting with books all around me, not reading them and instead listening to the wind. Laughing while showering because the bees always come to the window when I shower lapping the mist off the glass. Getting sidetracked at the coffee shop wondering why the owner decided to paint the room white when coffee is constantly being splashed on everything and someone has to wipe the walls down and some stains never leave. There is no purpose. “There is no audience to perform for.” There is today. And boiled all the way down is this current hour. Currently, there’s the moka pot on my stove. My jeans in the dryer. The mosquitos sitting on the screen door waiting to get inside. There’s the sand on the bottom of the shower, a day at the beach going down the drain, there’s that grounding part again. There’s my husband boiling lemongrass. The smell pushing past the windows into the neighborhood and me imagining everyone opening their windows trying to bottle the smell. The bee at the hibiscus flower accomplishing its calling. The honey I pour onto my spoon, the smile on my face as it slide down my throat.

**I wrote this one because 1. I had a wonderful cup of coffee from said moka pot 2. my laptop was open and it said “you might as well.” 3. being an artist in this day in age feels exhausting. You want to create but feel like “what’s the point?” if the algorithm doesn’t deem you worthy to boost your work to the masses. 4. I live in my head a lot and thus I forget to be present and share my feelings outwardly so here I am, sharing my feelings**

with love and understanding,

T ❤