BURNED BAGELS

Even on a good day I should never be left alone with an oven. It seems impossible to imagine that a smart woman would place bagels in the broiler and then follow the wanderings of a restless spirit down to the Studio to begin the work of the day. 

What I wonder is what prompts the brain to suddenly remember in the midst of something altogether unrelated?  Is it possible that the faint smell of charred breakfast made its way through the garden and awakened an unconscious awareness pushed down like some unnecessary detail? 

My mind seems to have a hole right through the center where present tense used to be.

I am running through the garden at warp speed, bare feet on gravel and something that sounds like indictment or self-punishment pouring from my mouth. 

Note to Self: You must learn to be less critical.

Note to Reader: The bagels never had a chance.

It’s not so much the loss of breakfast that is the focus of my dismay but this lingering unpleasant odor that permeates every corner of my sanctuary, demanding acknowledgement that body and brain, soul and spirit, are having difficulty aligning. Why is it I feel as though I’m not the only one?

We name it distraction but it feels as if something deeper is at play.

This is not about a moment in time but a long, uncomfortable season of transition—

when what was, is giving way and making room for something not yet defined,

when all of who I am is defiantly standing my ground while simultaneously [sometimes reluctantly] leaning in to a new day. 

You may find this hard to believe but this is not the first time I have burned the bagels.  In the past, there was nothing more satisfying than opening the back door and flinging the tray. But today, I feel this overwhelming need to sit quietly with the ravages of a moment and listen.