Riding the waves of life. I used that imagery giving birth to my children. Riding the wave, looking over my shoulder to know when to paddle, staying with the crest, being in the moment so as to not become overcome by what I can not control. Knowing that really, truly, we are powerless. Being willing to surrender any notion of 'control' of the situation. Breathing, observing, being.
Rob is out of work again. My Grandmother has cancer. Things I can not control. The economy. The speed at which cells in Grandma's breasts divided.
What I can control. The direction that I look. Whom I vote for. Where in my body I send my breath. My ability to still sit in the sun with a cup of coffee, watching the golden strands of my children's hair intermingled as they examine dirt, and say to my self "life is good".
Because it is. Life is sweet. Regardless of the size of waves, or where I am in relation to the pounding surf.
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