On Saturday night, I tried to get out of it.

It wasn’t that I’m not committed to the art form.  Who wouldn’t have loved to gather with the poets in a Hawaiian botanical garden to share a homegrown meal, some wine and verse?  It was just my intuition telling me that I was tapped.  No more reserves.

I’ve been in the midst of moving.  My life is now neatly wrapped in boxes, strewn across my living room floor.  My son is on summer break and his camp session has ended.  I have work obligations to uphold and kitchen cupboards to deep clean.

Poetry seemed like icing for a cake half-baked.  But when I called my friend to politely decline the invite, still assuring her I was a dedicated writer and only on a brief hiatus, she was having none of it.  She pressed, encouraged and hoped that I would come.

So I pushed pass inner guidance and made my cucumber salad with seaweed and sesame seeds.  Packed up Jeb and some prose and made my way to the circle in the trees.

All was picture-postcard beautiful, including a decadent spread of food and beverage.  There was a sunset with a rain shower, an ocean view, all in a tropical paradise setting.  There were writers milling about the damp grass, too.  But the shower became a pour and for the next two hours, Jeb darted in and out of the rain, long into the darkness, soaking his jeans up to his knees and getting good and soggy.  Writers huddled close under the small tent erected for our coverage.  We ate but did not get to poetry.  Not before Jeb began rubbing his wet eyes and my mother instincts told me it was time to get cozy and head home.

In the morning, Jeb feels sick.  He’s slightly feverish and moving slowly.

I know this lesson, but am still remembering it, apparently.

courtesy of calsidyrose

I know.  We all do.  We all know what we need (or don’t need) to do.  It’s that inner compass that points the way.  It may be subtle, but it’s strong and if you go against the direction in which it points, you may find yourself on a rocky side trail trying to find your way back on path.

Poetry, commitment, tropical gardens and the arts all looked inciting.  They lured me into turning from my true north.  Now, Jeb is sick, it’s Monday morning and my clients have more work than I can keep up with, all of which I’m trying to do while taking care of my son from home.  I’ve got appointments but no child care.  There are 10 days before I move and two days worth of house cleaning, top to bottom.  Somewhere in there I was going to try to maintain my yoga practice for my sanity, while hooking my son to his video game in the back corner of the studio while doing sun salutations.

I wake at first light this morning with all of this on my mind.  It conjures a prayer for peace to my lips.

Somehow it will all get done.  One step, one breath at a time.  The quest is in the quality of how it’s done.  With stress or with ease?

If I trust that inner compass, I know my way will be made.  Truly and completely, with clear direction.

Here’s to inner guidance.  Lead the way!

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