The Rush

I’m rushing.

I can feel the rush sweeping me up, collecting me and all that I can gather and scatter in a precious moment I fear will be my last. 

The rush whirs in my ears and under my skin.

It reminds me of the feeling when you hear the captain tell you to prepare for takeoff and you know you’re moving with force. It’s loud and it’s compelling. It has to be.

You’re going somewhere and the rush is sending you there. 

Yet, you can’t quite perceive just how much power you’re being lifted with.

I know the urgency, scarcity and fear with which we respond to crisis is part of the crisis. I’ve heard that sermon and I like it. But what do we do when we want to slow down, yet the vortex of culture, history, metabolism and family has other ideas? When the rush is bubbling in ways we can barely sense, let alone control?

Telling the rush to take it easy is like telling a tide to delay. 

I’ve known the unpredictable endings we can be visited by and their ghosts make me anxious. So I justify the rush in wanting to share as much care, nurture and loving kindness as I can into this brief blink of a lifetime.

But I’m still sorry about the rush, guilty and hiding it sometimes.

Nonetheless, I’m starting to notice more keenly how the rush pressures the unspoken world into a fragile emergence that’s more vulnerable than it need be. How it cuts short the time it takes to ferment.

I’ll pay more attention to the rush. I’ll get to know it. I’ll find places it can be welcome. I’ll let it move. I’ll swing with it.

I won’t trap it, deny it or shame it.

I’ll ask the rush to help me understand its quickening, its power, its refusal to be quiet and calm.

I’ll press my ear up close and listen to the echo it’s singing. 

From my Heart-Field to yours,