Gravity

My flesh feels heavy.  Sometimes it's so hard to drag myself out of bed to fight again.  On my way to  yoga in the morning, my mind always thinks of the Beastie Boys song Fight For Your Right.  I've gotta fight.  For my right.  To party.  I can't give up.  My feet are on shaky ground but one day I hope to get it right. 

It's so dark in the morning and my mind is aware that this earth is literally hell.  It's the darkness.  It's the heaviness of my flesh, my corruption.  The fight.

The sound of my breath this morning was mournful.  The only thing I could feel was my body moving through grief.  It felt like moving through mashed potatoes.  The fear is even  heavier than the grief.  The 'what-ifs' I can never speak out loud for fear.

I meditate on the heaviness.  On my flesh being glued to the earth.  When there's light inside me, this heaviness feels more like the earth cradling me.  But it  frequently feels like extra gravity, like this hell-planet got bigger and it's gluing me to its surface. 

Once again, I turn my awareness inward to see what my soul says (as if I don't know what it will say) and once again it says, "You need God, dummy.  You need grace, dummy."