I am feeling restrained by mindfulness this morning. My desire to do *everything* is flared.
But this nagging feeling comes in: ‘remember mindfulness, remember this body, embody a regulated nervous system.’
I feel this desperate urge to MOVE, to DO, to PRODUCE, to ACHIEVE, and even at this moment, to WRITE. It is *inspiration*, but the desperate quality is unsettling. The undesirability of considering, with patience, my own physical experience is an indication that there is a historical ache here, a desire to avoid something. To ‘do’ something away.
I am grateful that I can take this pause to reflect on my experience. To disengage. The story and memory is not something I can immediately conjure, but I can sit with myself as the body relaxes and unfolds.
I may reconnect consciously with the source, I may not, and that is perfection.
The body needs to untangle and unfurl in its own sweet time.