September 15, 2011
Tonight I alternate between joining my housemates in song and being distracted by the need to write. Because I do. Need. To write.
My emotions have been all over the map these past few days, alternating between fearful anxiety and deep calm. Not surprising, considering I have just weathered my first experience of non-practice emergency: ushering children into a safe room and waiting out the storms of bomb and gunfire explosions.
During the two days since, I have tried to concentrate as usual on my lesson plans and workday duties. But I keep returning to a need to settle my heart: to somehow soothe my soul, though not knowing how.
Tonight I think I have stumbled into the answer. It lies in letting go, if only for this moment. In not doing what is on my to-do list, if only for this one night.
So I let go of the expectations and I soak up my immediate surroundings. Two incredible musicians are sitting nearby, one playing violin, one on the guitar. I sing along with them, when not typing. Tomorrow will bring a new set of duties and demands. But tonight the need is to sing songs of gratitude, and of praise.
Like this kite that had caught on the balcony of my house. Its string held it fast, as the wind blew it back and forth, up and down.
I am suspended. Held firm, by a cord that may appear tenuous but that holds me securely. Blown here and there, up and down . . . but held fast.