So Busy

To awaken and find a note of affection is like cookie dough...placed into the oven of our hearts it makes delightful treats for our day....

            Having a heart care...in what appears to be a cold and indifferent world is a big thing.  I don't know how many bother to take account of the positive aspects of their lives; in the form of people who are interested in their welfare...I'd suspect most don't even consider it unless a holiday or special event forces some kind of acknowledgment of appreciation.  And not out of arrogant entitlement either.  It’s just that so many seem to be so busy.  That word covers a host of self-inflicted wounding doesn't it?  Perhaps we should consider the word busy as a profanity; at the very least a cause for sorrow and remorse. 

Busy robs us of what is important in our existence.  It's used to shield us from responsibilities of tending our most important relationships.  It’s whipped out as an excuse for being late; or not attending at all, social events or celebration, gatherings, and festive galas; the very fabric of our family. 

   "Sorry I was busy and lost track" yes indeed.  And the use of it is insidious.  Like a cancer, it creeps into all aspects of our lives.  Once only used on rare occasions with our most beloved, liberally due to our feeling secure in their acceptance, then too soon to discover we are using the excuse more often without so much as a thought over why.  Like a ripple on a still pond~ it travels outward....

   "Sorry I got so busy"

   If not tending ones love ~ what else is so darn important? Tending the heart is a reverent thing for me.  Not a task of progressing towards a goal to be achieved, or out of an obligation to be met. Worse still, being present as the opportunity to pat myself on the back a deceptive self congratulations for projecting an image of being dependable and responsible. 

   Mine is the message and gift of appreciation.  In gratitude I tend my garden so that love has room to grow and blossom.  I am eager for its fragrance to waif on the warm summer breeze.  Or, in quite moments, like now; close my eyes and feel near.  Only in learning and knowing the details of our intimates can we experience private revelry.   Not just the details of the beloved face, or the date and place of their birth.  But to the depth of knowing where favored slippers rest.  Or is the water cup on the nightstand filled. What is more sacred than to have experienced the day’s last sigh from their lips? These are not so easily discerned, only revealed through time and attention. All foregone~ for the sake of busy.

            Certainly I can list my delights; some more private than others.  Learned by attending touch, and taste; the very smell of them. How their whisper invokes empathy, the awesome privilege of the feel of their tears.  How a shutter from the fear of being alone can be calmed by a warm embrace.  How they tease; how they pout. It seems to me, these facets would merit focus and attention for anyone who is interested.  As the practice art of desire to know the ways of love.  Such things are spinning in my conscious and subconscious.  So that I claim to be busy no more.  I have no room for it.  I'm decisively engaged in tending my love... my life