Today I teach a writing class. I wake with a shiver of trepidation in my spine. Yes, I am charged by the idea of giving what I know to a group of interested students. But what overshadows that is a fear that during this all-day course, I will run out of energy.
Energy has, at times, been a challenge for me. As a child I was beset with tonsillitis and never knew when it would swoop in and steal my strength for days. And later I found that when I lacked enthusiasm for anything—a job, a lunch date, a family gathering—I would feel as though my body were burdened with 400-pound barbells.
Of course, I would push through, do what I had to, participate. But I usually feared that in the midst of the creation, I would suddenly run out of gas. My body would simply give up.
In recent years, as my work as a travel writer took a toll on my health, the problem became serious. Now, I no longer work eight-hour days, and I marvel at people who do.
So the prospect of a full day of teaching and relating appears ominous this morning. As I eat breakfast, my mouth goes dry, the blueberries sticky on my tongue.
On the river, kayakers have a saying: “If you can spit, you can run it,” meaning if you can spit in a rapid, it is likely not too difficult for you. If you are so afraid that you can’t muster up saliva, you might want to portage your boat around the obstacles.
This morning I can’t spit.
But as I put on my best blouse and slacks, as I don my work shoes, I keep bringing my attention back to the now. I release the fear and ask the Divine for help.
Just as I walk out the door, He gives it to me.
Suddenly I see everything as energy: my car, the piñon trees, the blue wave of the Sandia Mountains in the distance. And, most importantly, myself. I recognize that I need not concern myself with generating energy. Instead I simply keep my attention on the now, with God, and when I do, I am all energy.
Exhaustion comes when the mind is on the ascendant, thinking, calculating, stopping, starting. But when I am present in the now and holding my Beloved’s hand, all becomes quiet, smooth, lucid and flowing. The energy flows through me—so much that I have to give freely because I really have too much to contain.
As I cruise on my dirt road, I watch my mind reach forward to figure out the day—and my energy drops. But the minute I bring it back and think of my Beloved, it returns. And still as I turn onto the highway, my thoughts begin to fret and plan, but I redirect them to the ribbon of pavement and blue skies before me. Each time I do, I feel the charge of the beautiful energy that I am.
I am all energy, all love, a limitless flow available to take me home.
And my class?
Next time, though, I’ll make it a half-day course.
P.S. Loving thanks to my subscribers. If you enjoyed this post and are not subscribed, sign up below to receive it in your email box. To share on Facebook and Twitter, click below as well.