Small Things
It's a strange time in my life (when isn't?) and in the world right now. Even as I am feeling kind of discouraged by the frustrations and disillusions of landlords and financial blows and car troubles, I am oddly optimistic, secretly hopeful. I struggle with hope. Although I have a profound faith in Truth and the Good, the voices of Demonalia ( http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/agor... ; http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/agor... ; http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/agor... ; ) lie always beneath the surface of my consciousness. When I start to feel too cocky, too positive, they whisper caution in my ear. "Careful," they mutter. "Careful. Don't get too full of yourself. Who do you think you are?" They are more subtle these days than they were in the past, less powerful. But they are not gone. Still, they have weakened as my resistence is stronger and my self-hate less potent.
I've been practicing doing small things, making tiny changes in my life. I made a commitment a couple of weeks ago to leave the house every day, even if it's only to just step outside the door and stand there for a minute, which is often all that it is. It's strange how good that simple, pointless little action feels. I'm finding myself loving those few moments. I stand on the step and look at the beauty of the sky and feel the freshness of the air and give thanks for life and beauty and possibility, for a roof over my head and food in my cupboards, for the Antique Kitty's company, for friends and movies and books and stars and hope. The Demonalians, of course, think it's pointless. You didn't go anywhere," they whisper. "What's the point?" To be honest I'm not sure what the point actually is, I just know that it feels good, that it feels in some odd way like an accomplishment.
Another small thing I'm committing myself to do is spend some time each day not at the computer. I have a habit of sitting here too much, whiling away hours of time even when I'm not working. It's an escape which isn't working. I've stretched out on the sofa and watched a movie a couple of times this week and I started reading a book yesterday. That feels good too.
I guarantee you that there is a lot of resistence to even small changes. I'm sitting here thinking that I should commit myself to spending ten or fifteen minutes writing every day. You would think I was suggesting committing myself to writing the great American novel overnight for the panic that's setting off in me. The word should in that sentence of course is a sign that something is not right in my thinking here. It's a small word but it is the kiss of death to any potential accomplishment when it rises in a sentence or in my head. It's a Demonalian mantra and somewhere along the course of time became code for something other than what it means.
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