When You Wake Up and Arrive Like That

Samantha Wallen
Jul 27, 2017 · 2 min read

So much happens in a day, I can’t really say what it all was. I don’t remember waking up. I do remember standing in the shower, the warm water steaming me up so much I felt faint and couldn’t catch my breath. I remember my toothbrush pulsing three times and blinking its, “I need to be charged,” light at me, but I don’t actually remember brushing my teeth. I remember sitting down to read my morning poem from my, Year with Hafiz, book. I remember having the book open to today’s poem, and then things get fuzzy. I remember finding myself bouncing around in Facebook, shooting off a few long over due email replies, burning a piece of toast in the toaster, and boiling the tea pot, but never drinking any tea. I remember a video chat session with a client and needing to cough too much and blowing my nose. The rest is a blur until I arrived at 7:45 pm, hungry yet ready to forego dinner because the last thing in the world I wanted to do was clean the kitchen and make it.

Then something happened. I arrived. My whirling mind of worry, hurry, blurry focus quieted down and I was there. I was with every fork and spoon, the little red ramekin coated with strawberry yogurt, the big blade knife with bits of dried garlic stuck on its edge. I was with my hand and the scrub brush bristles, the green soapy sponge, and the soft horizon of pink light and patchy gray cloud right outside my window.

My body and my mind, didn’t care to be anywhere else.

I was with the butter melting in the thick-bottomed saucepan, the sizzling of beef, the wiry cilantro, the hard carrot, the crisp moist red leaf lettuce. The drizzle of balsamic dressing. The thin blue plate and the little matching bowl.

For a moment I understood what the gurus are always talking about — “You can enjoy your chores as much as you enjoy having them done” — or something like that. It was no longer just a thought, something to aspire to. It was true. I was there.

Then, I remembered the poem. The one with the line, “Hey, Beloved my soul is a raging volcano of love for you!”

I was awake for that. It wasn’t a blur. I didn’t forget or lose it all to worry hurry.

So I thought I’d better write it down…incase I forget tomorrow…


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100 Naked Words

Est. May 2016. 100 vulnerable words, one day at a time. Every day.

Samantha Wallen

Written by

Founder/CEO WriteInPower, poet, writer, book coach, social justice disciple, steam-punk time traveler tending to where value, core wounds, and brilliance meet.

100 Naked Words

Est. May 2016. 100 vulnerable words, one day at a time. Every day.

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