I have a frantic brain. It is taking in or reacting to or turning something over most times. I crave stillness and it is with a warrior's mindset that I have to go after it.
Poetry helps. In particular, Mary Oliver helps. She grounds me with her words. Her poems, at first glance, seem spare and even simple, but that is the mark of a master distiller. What remains is the most important stuff.
I think many times that this how I could do my life. It sounds easy, but what does that LOOK like? How do you DO a life? Is it an active or passive verb? Can it be both?
I am not yet sure but maybe this:
Lying on my son's bed after reading to him, the cat climbed on top of my stomach and began purring before he fully settled in. My son stroked the cat's ears and soon, the cat's eyes drifted shut. My son started talking about how we had found the perfect cat. He chattered about how Mugsy could not be named anything other than Mugsy, though Champion Cat seemed sort of cool. But Mugsy came to us as Mugsy and Mugsy he will remain. Mugsy has no affiliation to the mafia and Mugsy, my son asserted, was meant to be our cat, the very best cat of all cats. My son giggled as the purring continued. Finally, a long slow sigh and then my son closed his eyes.
I was warm. My breath was steady. My stomach was sweaty from the ball of fur and a cool breeze kicked up boy-smells. They were not unwelcome.
My heart felt ready to explode and I did believe, right then, that I was on to something.