Every morning, I wake up with a headache. It seems the longer I linger in bed, the worse it becomes. It's what I would describe as a "sinus headache" and it feels like bells are ringing in my brain. I'm not at all concerned because it's nothing new and if it were life-threatening, I would have been long-dead.
The headache has been a constant morning occurrence for many years. I get up, it slowly leaves me.
No, I don't welcome my headaches and yes, I have tried many things to alleviate whatever problem may be their cause but I have accepted them and have my own theory about their persistence. You see, I think of my little problem as one caused by my Muse. It's the Muse who gives me a little push, begging me to get up for the day, telling me that it is time for me to start connecting with my creative world, in the serenity and space that it is my own home. No gym required for my fitness. No yoga class or spinning class to make me "centered". It all happens right here, in my den or as the British call it my "snug".
I've learned from friends who are also retired, that they sleep a bit later than do I. They tell me that they appreciated the fact that there is no job to go to, no time schedule or deadlines and that they treasure this and fill the hours that used to be part of their more frantic lives, with more sleep and the luxury of time under the covers and maybe even coffee in bed. Amen. There was a time when I had to run for a train, answer the call of a baby, or prepare a child for the arrival of a school bus and I would have given anything for added time under the covers. That was my "then".
This is my "now". My own brand of wisdom tells me that I need time for putting pieces of my life into place, for fulfilling a need to be creative and it's that time in the morning that I have come to value so very much. Head pounding, I wrap myself up in my favorite robe and head directly to my kitchen for that blessed first cup of hot coffee. Yes, I know, worst thing to hit an empty stomach, coffee! Too old to change. My favorite mug in hand, I silently make my way to my special chair and begin my next set of rituals.
Each day, I read from Sarah Ban Breathnach's lovely book, Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. I stared the new year with this book in hand as did thousands of women. It's a little treasure. Just one page a day. Her wisdom guides me as I start the creative flow and open up the chanels. Words about acceptance, honoring ourselves, making plans for life, directing our energies toward personhood, along with a few prayer cards of my own which I have strategically placed in the pages to remind me of my spiritual needs, and my mind starts to expand. As my sinuses drain and my coffee does its magic, I go on to another book.
The Artist's Way Every Day, by Julia Cameron gives my creative life a jump start. Here again, just a page a day. Julia guides her readers through a year of creative living and when I am getting stale, I always find inspiration in these pages.This morning, for instance, I read about the need to become willing to listen to a "still, small voice" that becomes louder. Our heart's desire becomes more of a reality when we listen. Were I in a crowded room or even in the company of my husband in the morning's early hours, I may not catch on to words such as these.
Finally, I go on to another little book. This time, I become the author. My little "One Year Wiser, a Gratitude Journal" is the one that beckons me to sit, think and list. Fairly quickly, I bang out a few lines, always trying to find at least three things for which I am grateful at that moment. It's when I count my blessings that I truly start to feel creative and at peace with my soul. Little, stupid stuff like being grateful for the nice man at the grocery store who gave me the penny or the woman at the Post Office who wasn't grouchy as she usually is. Of course, I do list the big "stuff" as well and the words "friends" and "friendship" show up rather often on the pages.
If time allows, I sit and write into another book or on this blog. My writing oftentimes is the culmination of all that I may have garnered from my readings that morning. Writing is a creative process. It takes a bit of strength, and sometimes, even courage. I know that every word that I write will not be read by anyone other than myself and when I go back and re-read, I am pleased that I have documented so much and hopeful that one day, my family will take the time and use my words to understand more about me.
So, thank you, my dear Muse Person. You threw me out of bed again and you sat beside me, quietly, moving me in the direction I should be headed. I love it that you never speak out loud but you say so much.
Bless my headaches.
The headache has been a constant morning occurrence for many years. I get up, it slowly leaves me.
No, I don't welcome my headaches and yes, I have tried many things to alleviate whatever problem may be their cause but I have accepted them and have my own theory about their persistence. You see, I think of my little problem as one caused by my Muse. It's the Muse who gives me a little push, begging me to get up for the day, telling me that it is time for me to start connecting with my creative world, in the serenity and space that it is my own home. No gym required for my fitness. No yoga class or spinning class to make me "centered". It all happens right here, in my den or as the British call it my "snug".
I've learned from friends who are also retired, that they sleep a bit later than do I. They tell me that they appreciated the fact that there is no job to go to, no time schedule or deadlines and that they treasure this and fill the hours that used to be part of their more frantic lives, with more sleep and the luxury of time under the covers and maybe even coffee in bed. Amen. There was a time when I had to run for a train, answer the call of a baby, or prepare a child for the arrival of a school bus and I would have given anything for added time under the covers. That was my "then".
This is my "now". My own brand of wisdom tells me that I need time for putting pieces of my life into place, for fulfilling a need to be creative and it's that time in the morning that I have come to value so very much. Head pounding, I wrap myself up in my favorite robe and head directly to my kitchen for that blessed first cup of hot coffee. Yes, I know, worst thing to hit an empty stomach, coffee! Too old to change. My favorite mug in hand, I silently make my way to my special chair and begin my next set of rituals.
Each day, I read from Sarah Ban Breathnach's lovely book, Simple Abundance, A Daybook of Comfort and Joy. I stared the new year with this book in hand as did thousands of women. It's a little treasure. Just one page a day. Her wisdom guides me as I start the creative flow and open up the chanels. Words about acceptance, honoring ourselves, making plans for life, directing our energies toward personhood, along with a few prayer cards of my own which I have strategically placed in the pages to remind me of my spiritual needs, and my mind starts to expand. As my sinuses drain and my coffee does its magic, I go on to another book.
The Artist's Way Every Day, by Julia Cameron gives my creative life a jump start. Here again, just a page a day. Julia guides her readers through a year of creative living and when I am getting stale, I always find inspiration in these pages.This morning, for instance, I read about the need to become willing to listen to a "still, small voice" that becomes louder. Our heart's desire becomes more of a reality when we listen. Were I in a crowded room or even in the company of my husband in the morning's early hours, I may not catch on to words such as these.
Finally, I go on to another little book. This time, I become the author. My little "One Year Wiser, a Gratitude Journal" is the one that beckons me to sit, think and list. Fairly quickly, I bang out a few lines, always trying to find at least three things for which I am grateful at that moment. It's when I count my blessings that I truly start to feel creative and at peace with my soul. Little, stupid stuff like being grateful for the nice man at the grocery store who gave me the penny or the woman at the Post Office who wasn't grouchy as she usually is. Of course, I do list the big "stuff" as well and the words "friends" and "friendship" show up rather often on the pages.
If time allows, I sit and write into another book or on this blog. My writing oftentimes is the culmination of all that I may have garnered from my readings that morning. Writing is a creative process. It takes a bit of strength, and sometimes, even courage. I know that every word that I write will not be read by anyone other than myself and when I go back and re-read, I am pleased that I have documented so much and hopeful that one day, my family will take the time and use my words to understand more about me.
So, thank you, my dear Muse Person. You threw me out of bed again and you sat beside me, quietly, moving me in the direction I should be headed. I love it that you never speak out loud but you say so much.
Bless my headaches.
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