Re-Cycling

I hesitate to say that I have a favorite time to write. 

I will say that writing in the morning has its own glorious energy because I'm in the part of the day that is fresh and new. I begin in darkness with rising and moving gently and slowly through the first moments of waking and rising. And as I do, I notice that the earth is doing the same thing. Light and color come slowly at first, gently, and they begin with softness and grace. Today it was subtle color at the edges of the clouds. 

I woke with dreams this morning and forgot to write them down, but they directed me to some of the inner conflicts I've been feeling lately. My morning journal is filled with them, the way the sky is filled with a soft, diffuse light. There is cloud cover in the sky. What had been clouds with defined edges has softened into more of a filter for what could have blinding morning sunlight. I was able to write gently today about these conflicts. The outer world, a teacher for my inner world. The nature outside of me, a teacher for the nature within. 

And here in this writing, I notice I also am going slowly. Stopping and noticing the light. It moves and changes, brightening and softening as if it is alive. Which, of course, it is. I notice what in my world becomes tipped with light as the sun rises higher in the morning sky. My kitchen has three large windows with access to the eastern sky and every day as the sun journeys higher and higher in the early morning, the light journeys through my kitchen. 

I notice my fridge is plastered with too many magnets and papers, almost an impulsive vision board and different facets become highlighted and stand out and catch my attention, like sunlight shining through stained glass. 

I wonder if it is time to change things up a bit.

Every now and then I completely clear my refrigerator of its artifacts, decide what needs to stay and what can be tossed, recycled, or filed away. A few years ago when my son was in college he gave me a map he created in one of his classes, "Car-less in Philadelphia." It was an offering for my refrigerator, one of those sweet moments that evoke years long past when refrigerator offerings were daily gifts.

There's also a bumper sticker from Penzey's - "Love people. Cook them tasty food." A magnet from Omega Institute that says, "JOY." A magnet from ELCA World Hunger with a table prayer, the same one I learned as a child and prayed every night at our dinner table. A postcard my cousin sent from Norway, with sweeping views of mountains and a waterscape. An article about the birth of baby jaguars at an area zoo. Magnets my kids made when they were little. The paint has faded a bit and some of the sequins have fallen off. A note card. I'm not sure from whom. When I got up and looked, I realized it's there simply because I like the picture and the word, "HOPE" that dominates the lower right corner. 

A couple of comics I cut out of the paper. Some lists. A tiny horoscope cut out of the newspaper. Magnets people or organizations have given me. A carry-out menu and coupons from a pizza place I've never ordered from. A concert program. 

And my favorite fortune from a Chinese restaurant.

It's funny what we collect. 

I have access to three sides of my fridge. And while the front of the fridge is a wild, chaotic snapshot of what I collect in the moment, one side is carefully organized like a bulletin board with necessities. Over on the side next to my kitchen sink, I've got a couple of pictures of the kids when they were little and a few other things that sustain me as I wash dishes. The cabinets over the sink are painted metal and so they've also attracted a couple of magnets. 

It might be fun to take an afternoon and pull everything down, see what goes back up, and what treasures have been right before me that I haven't paid much attention to because they're so close I've stopped giving them my conscious attention.

I'll bet my whole house is full of such treasure troves.

I wonder what happens when we stop and take some time with these repositories of manifestation dreams. When we stop waiting for the right time or the convenient time or the available time, and simply make time. 

The Summer of Self-Love is a daily writing practice created to harness three months for thriving. The goal at the end is to host a dinner party. Sounds like an unusual Hero's Journey, doesn't it? Most of them usually are.