It was was one very long day...
I got out early to take my devotions at a favorite coffee shop - A small stack of books to devour in front of me, a hot cup of joe to my right, & a great city view to my left. For the next few hours, I was a happy as a clam. Well, mostly. That wondrous & slightly ominous techno-color dream from the night before kept thronging its way to the foreground begging to be reflected on. A thing I was not eager to do, as it felt like a prophetic invitation to 'enter the rabbit hole'.
Back at home, my husband puttered around the house knocking out things on the Honey-Do list every few hours. It was good to see him relax. I, on the other hand, found myself restless & pensive pacing the length of the house grappling with the meaning of last night's vivid dream & wondering what lay up ahead for 2022 regarding my life, family, friends & faith community, my work & especially the Church at large. Eventually ended up hopping in the car & just driving around the city for a long while. When I reached the cathedral district downtown I parked & walked & walked & walked. And as I walked, I prayed.
Arriving back home early evening, I tinkered
with the five distinct words that had emerged from this morning's reflections. At dawn, over coffee, they came out of my pencil's point like a rule of life haiku. Starkly succinct but packed with meaning & depth.
By mid-evening I was at the tattoo shop having those five words etched into my skin. The pain & permanence of it served as a kind of commitment liturgy for me. John, my tattoo artist (named after a prophet), reminded me to re-baptize those words a few times a day for the next week or two to heal the scars & make only the beauty permanent. That'll preach.
Newly bandaged, I headed home & spent the evening playing Uno with my family as we talked smack concerning each other's lack of game. It was hilarious.
Today was an odd day for many reasons. And it felt so very long. But in some weird sense, it was a perfect way to end the old year & prepare for the new one.
.
.