Stillness did not come.

Clearing my mind seemed impossible this morning, but it wasn't a pointless clutter that barged in. Rather, my breath carried a cadence of items, apparently borne from somewhere in my subconscious, of pairings that I wanted to bring into my life (breathe in), and those I wished to usher from it (breathe out). Not fighting it, the result was quite a powerful meditation in and of itself.

At once, a troubling illustration of many things I'm doing wrong in life, but yet an exciting tale for all the potential is represents. Life is pretty good now... just imagine how much greater it can be with these directions. When taken individually, each is fairly simple. The list is fairly plebeian so I won't bore you with it, but I did write down many I could remember.

Here I thought my limit of ten minutes was brutal; Kristi shared this link. One word. One minute. Go!  Now that's a challenge. I'm going to add this to my morning routine.

Ten minutes.

Throughout November-December I dabbled in a morning routine that included some quiet meditation, stretching, yoga, and in general a more regimented process. The results are in: the days where I kept this practice were glorious, with notable differences in mood, focus and productivity. This dabbling took me through different types of weather, times of the month and all the other things one might ascribe to the cause.

Focus on the flame.

This past week I left it behind. And boy... do I notice a difference. The holiday caloric bacchanalia has left me de-energized, demotivated, stiff, grumpy... you name it. Simply taking a deep breath was met with constriction and fight from the muscles in my abdomen.

Back on plan this morning. Which is going to include a small window for writing. The point is 1) have a limit 2) write without obsession of the details.

Meditating with dogs in the house resulted in a change in my intended practice (10-15 minutes of utter silence and solitude as I focused on breath was the intent). Instead of fighting it, I've worked it in. The dogs all approach me with questions in their eyes -- Why am I on the floor in the living room? Why am I staring at a candle sitting atop my drum set in front of me? Instead of shooing them away, I draw them in, cup their questioning little faces, transmit all the love I feel for them, and plant a kiss on their forehead. It never fails that both Shadow and Marissa will primly then sit down beside me, facing forward, and stare at the candle for a minute. They then look at me as if to say, "What are we waiting for?" After a few moments they will then meander away. Winston, instead, just loafs out beside me, content to bask in the moments.

What would we do without dogs? I don't want to find out.