A cue for rest
Hello friends,
Has it been a week already? I feel like I wrote to you just yesterday. The past couple of weeks have been foggy. Boundaries merged, and time ran up against itself. One day stands out, a day of tears and tissues, but I can't remember which day exactly.
Today was a good day, though. I got a (COVID-conscious) haircut for the first time since November. I repotted the dessert rose I told you about last week. The new pot is bulbous and covered in already-peeling blue paint. Two round handles sit across from each other. They're too small to function as actual handles, though. They look more like mouse ears. I also baked a challah. The smell of fresh challah on Shabbat evening is a cue for rest.
Rest is an interesting concept. I did almost nothing this week, but I wouldn't say I rested. Pain kept me awake at night. Fatigue bogged me down during the day. And all the while, my mind turned, over and over. My anxiety fed off itself, running nonstop. There was no rest.
Now, however, Shabbat encourages me to set my anxiety aside for a day. The world will still be a mess on Sunday. My body will continue to wrestle with itself. But today, I sit in the sun and smoke a cigar. I write to you (and to myself). And my only worry is for the pale yellow butterfly who trapped itself inside my porch screen. I opened the door in the hopes it will find its way back outside. But ultimately, it must find the way out on its own.
Shabbat shalom,
Yardena