Sunday Morning Song

The wood is tired and the wood is old

And we’ll make it fine if the weather holds

But if the weather holds we’ll have missed the point

That’s where I need to go.

“The Wood Song,” Indigo girls

This morning was a swirl of thought until I opened an email from a friend who linked to “The Wood Song.”  It took me out of myself and into the world.

I stopped chasing what never holds.

It isn’t so much that I am tired. I’m weary. It is a luxury–a privilege, really–to ponder the difference, much less to experience.

For me, there is a lifetime between tired–sleep-deprived–and weary, which has a forever edge. Maybe in every life there comes a point when there is no awakening unless it is to the world as it is.

When the sleep of the past is no longer comfortable, when the weather no longer holds anywhere. Better to awake weary than to miss the point.

I spent so many years doing just that. Walking my world until my sight dropped off its edge. The weather always held. Privilege.

These days, I try to go where the weather takes me. Old and tired, there is a lifetime of sleep–maybe longer–on some other shore. The weather will take me when I need to go. Until then, let me awake, weary or no.

Aim for Even posts offer equanimity a dose at a time. No day or dose is ever the same, even if the aim is. You may read about the origins of Aim for Even here or on this site’s About page.

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