An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

After the rain the sun shines brilliantly from my window that faces west the shadow of the house a looming patch of dark a border between the morning sun in the south and the building. I can see the tomato plants from my neighbor my own plants are dead because it is too hot and life got too busy to water them. I have neglected to take care of my own spiritual garden But I see through the blinds that it must be attended to under the canopy of trees by the fence. 

If I had a superpower-- I would double no triple! myself. Get things done be everywhere at once Pay attention to everyone who needs it. Not feel guilty for just having so few hours in the day so many demands on my time Don't give me  the ability to fly the power to read minds or turn myself invisible I just desperately want some help in this chaotic existence that is my life.

Let the wave wash over you do not be uprooted from what you believe and whom you trust As day turns into night the owl maintains its vigil the raven brings its dark news the nightingale sings its song But the sun will rise again the bees flit by flowers the sheep graze in the meadow the eagle stands sentinel No flood will destroy you No wind will strew you to pieces The fire will cleanse you make you stronger and whole

I can count the hours of rest on the fingers of both hands  and still have some left over. An underlying fog in the back of my mind never fully evaporates no matter how much I sleep Letters in my own handwriting colored paper remind me of what to do, where to go how to react. No, my memory is still good I just need a year or three's worth of mojitos at the beach side. 

The well run dry water is blocked need a new source I dig through the mud jagged rock heavy wet sand slowly becoming bone dry the farther I go deeper and deeper layers of psyche too much sludge but there's no turning back the only sound the pick axe ringing stone crumbling earth gives way don't know if it's day  or night as the earth consumes and smothers wraps tighter in darkness the sound of the rush is the only warning as it pushes me back erupting into the light a new spring of life floods the caverns of exploration to send my thoughts into orbit

The sense that all has changed and yet... The more the silence speaks the more I sit and listen. The precious sand in the hourglass still continue to fall. More aware of every grain that blossoms into a thorn-covered rose. Details obscured have now become clear the chaff just burns away Spirit distilled into a potent brew no longer weak But what cost did I have to pay for this new insight?