It's morning, around 7:45 and I've dropped Aubrey off at school. It's raining and I'm wearing my beloved military issue raincoat over pajamas. Rachmaninoff piano is playing on the radio. I've caught Orion's cold (Orion who is sleeping in today because of it) and am experiencing the ultra clear-headedness that inexplicably appears sometimes when I'm muddled with congestion. As I drive over the bridge I find myself in one of those moments when everything falls into place. One of those crystal clear moments where all the disjointed bits of life---including the aches and worries and bills---come together in a mosaic that makes perfect sense.
I am where I belong.
Perhaps it's because the desert is dressed in rain. The mountains I've come to love are mantled in cloud. Possibly my raincoat is secretly magical. More likely, I'm experiencing some weird sort of cold tablet high.
But I don't think so. I recognize the sensation. It's a rare thing, so rare that I remember the last such moment of clarity, which occurred as I stood on the edge of the swimming pool with Orion in the summer of 2006.
If this is happiness, I'll take it. I much prefer the quiet, deep sort of contentment that slips up without bells or whistles or identifiable cause to a giddy imp skating on temporary surfaces.
Even now, as I type by the windows overlooking the gloom, the essence of clarity remains.
In moments, the phone will start its ringing and the day will fill up with activity and distractions. I can try to carry the moment with me, but I know that is akin to trying to carry a handful of sand. Instead, I'll deeply appreciate it now and hope that appreciation will lend balance to the rest.
I'm thinking this might be as close as I can get, being a silly human, to poppet vision.
I'm off to the studio, with my imaginary handful of sand, seeking translation.
Hope you have a good Monday.