All is Well

     It was a still morning, a quiet morning, and, most likely, a too early morning when she got up, but she didn't look at her watch or a clock. She just got up.

    Got up naturally, she liked to think, evidence she was tuned in, perfectly tuned it to her own circadian rhythm.

    People were not meant to live by machines she had said to Phil just the day before, and thought of it again when she went to bed. She even got up, unplugged the clock and put her watch in a drawer, then went back to bed, to see what would happen when she depended only on natural rhythms, the harmonies of her own body in the physical world it lived in.

    She would be quick to emphasize the "physical" experience of her world when she explained it to Phil, so he couldn't/wouldn't assume she was off on some new quest--which is what he would call it.

    Well, yes, she'd had brief flirtations with Buddhism, the Tao, and even Jainism, but had come to think, no, to know that each day, each hour, each minute, each moment of the movement and rhythm of planet Earth was all she needed.

    The stars still visible in the early morning sky also had their stories, their planets and rhythms, their days and nights--of course, they did--but she was here, on earth, her home, complicated enough for one lifetime of exploration, discovery, and love.

    Celebrate this day! Now and here!

    "So easy," she said aloud.

    "Too easy," the dark voice deep inside replied, automatically, unbidden, like a machine always dialed to Negative.

    But this morning she laughed, switched off that internal machine, and stood at the window a moment longer, in love with the last of the stars fading in the morning sky. It was more than enough. No explanation needed. It was enough.