In This Moment

My days have become filled with video calls, phone calls, resource pages, and conversations with teenage sons who graze in the kitchen between classes, seeking both nourishment and the reassurance of human presence. I sense a fullness hanging between all of these conversations and interactions. It contains the story of the past that is rapidly crumbling. This fullness contains the future which has not yet emerged, full of unknowns and questions without answers. And it contains a present which is constantly moving. My mind won’t even pretend to try to stretch to understand or embrace all that it contains. It is obvious that it would be too much to hold. I can bear witness but I cannot hold it all, at least not with any certainty or for any length of time. It would be too much. This fullness is just… well, it’s full.

But, really, isn’t that the way it always is? Moments fade and eventually dissolve as they pass. The future is always an unknown.

The greatest gift and a source of solace in this time of fullness, is to remain in this moment — this one that I can see, hear, touch, feel, smell and taste.

In this moment, I feel my fingers on the keyboard and taste the hot coffee in my mouth. I hear the hum of the heat pump reminding me to be grateful for my home and the heat that we can bring to it. In this moment, I look out the window to see the sun splash orange across the horizon under that low, heavy cloud that is shaped like Tennessee. I feel my rib cage expanding as I inhale a little slower and a little deeper. In this moment, when the future has been unhinged from the past, I am just right here, noticing the fullness with a wide open heart.

What are you noticing in this moment? (This moment — the one when you are almost done reading this post and have already begun to think about what you will do next…) I invite you to pause. Notice your feet on the ground. Notice your breath creating expansion and then release within your body. Look up and around. What can you see? Hear? Touch? Smell? Feel? Taste?