on frustration and fear

My dog:


A bunny next door:



And never the twain shall meet. ;-)

That kind of sums up how today felt, truth be told -- even though, objectively speaking, I can recognize that I got a fair bit done (one article written, one shift at the hospital, various drafts and notes and what-have-you, etc., etc., boom). It just was one of those days where there was a lot of barking at windows (both literally -- the entire household got woken up to the sound of tumbling glass in the middle of the night -- and figuratively, aka me swearing under the hood of M$Word while trying to extricate bat skeletons out of its chassis) and me getting in my own damn way.

Fortunately, there is also the love of friends and doggies and the BYM. And clean sheets and strong tea and running water and city libraries and fireflies. Yes, yes, yes, yes, and YES. :-)

---

I just sat with my fear. I connected with its energy, and it felt sickening. I felt my throat begin to close and could hear my heartbeat through my chest. I watched as my mind filled up with dreadful, detailed thoughts about how inadequate I was. ...

I sat with myself in this way for about an hour. Many times I thought, Okay, that's it, I feel better now, back to work. But I waited a little bit longer, and the fear uncoiled like a snake at the base of my spine and moved up and down, up and down, until the energy of fear seemed to fill the room. Although I still felt tremendously uncomfortable, I also noticed a kind of growing warmth. I was paying attention to myself. I was sitting with myself as I would hold a still sleeping child twisting from a nightmare. I wasn't angry with her, and there was no sense in trying to talk her out of it. All I could do was hold her gently until she was awake enough to know where she was. The Zen teacher and poet John Tarrant says, "Attention is the most basic form of love; through it we bless and are blessed," and that seemed really true.

- Susan Piver, How Not To Be Afraid of Your Own Life