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?

Totally energized.

Next time, though, I’ll make it a half-day course.

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