Flow. Flow is my idea of heaven. When my mind and body cooperate to create a whole. A whole thought, movement … anything that is complete, that is heaven. When my thoughts flow — not in fragments as is their habit – but formed in whole – albeit imperfect— cloth before they reach my mouth. Or my hand, which in my heaven, cooperates so that I can record these whole thoughts as quickly as they… flow.
Such heavenly bliss is rare in this stage of my life. Everything seems fragmented. My jobs – there are three, all “part time.” My affections – all three children are in transition and the dog woke me up at 5 AM today. Nothing flows easily, not my thoughts, nor these words. Words I hope will help me to understand the fragments that spill from my mind onto the page in fits and starts.
I have been COVID-ed, the parts of my whole fragmented by his new reality. I am not a particularly demonstrative person and yet I long to hug people I am lucky enough to see in person. I zig from one pile on my desk to another and then zag to prepare for yet another Zoom meeting. Jerking from one task to the next, ploughing through the never-ending to do list … at least the superficial items on it as I remain unable to focus long enough on any one of them to get into their flow.
“Mom,” one of my financial sinkholes yells. And once again I am ripped from the gentle waves of complete thoughts to a pair of blue eyes that reflect my own.
“Yes,” I look up.
“I just wanted to say I love you.”
“What do you need?”
“Why do you think I need something?”
“Okay, what do you want?”
“Why do you think I want something?”
“No, I did just want to say I love you.”
Maybe heaven is fragmented after all.