Nearly

Nearly every morning I grumble at myself for sleeping over eight hours, usually around nine to eleven hours. Nearly every morning, no matter what time I set my alarm for, the snooze is pressed repeatedly for at least an hour. Nearly every afternoon, I lay upon the couch for a nap I try to set for no more than an hour. I usually nap for two to three hours. I set a schedule in my planner for tasks to do the next day nearly every night, but by the time I awake the next day, I don’t have enough time to complete all the tasks for that day without scurrying myself into anxiety (which typically prompts more naps).

I am powerless over sleep. I am powerless over my growing apathy. I am powerless over my fears. I have little sense of my Higher Power, and that, along with my various forms of powerlessness, is frightening. If I could control myself in these areas of my life, hell, I wouldn’t be writing this. I wouldn’t be afraid. I would be the image of perfection, seeming perfection, that I created in my mind, and my mind would be my powerful ally with which I could conquer all obstacles. However, the mind is so small and finite, and so narrow and weak, prey to itself. Granted, the brain can do wonderful things for society. Without brains we wouldn’t be sending rockets to Mars, making music with strings, reeds, and wood, or sipping lattes in light-filled buildings with cold or hot air blowing on demand.

But the brain is different from (although perhaps sometimes connected with) “the mind” in my understanding. The brain is the logic center that helps us create, engineer, and maintain structure. But our existence is more than the “the mind” and the brain. It takes spirit. Spirit is what drives us to our highest peak. Spirit gives us life to insert into our creativity, our accomplishments, and our relationships. Spirit is the will to live until death and that Spirit takes us to another level of living. Spirit is the energy.

What is this ethereal, nebulous Spirit that I hear is everywhere and only feel in brief moments? I seek and I sometimes barely find. I grasp and the water expels from my hands. Energy, life, comes to me in spurts, and after it has blown back into the ether, I am left seeking again with wounds still trickling.

Perhaps I should accept that I have a limited amount of energy each day, an amount that seems less than a lot of others’, including my future husband’s. Perhaps I am not a failure, but different. If I were just different, wouldn’t I have the spirit to live those waking hours? Perhaps it is just acceptance that I need, acceptance of what is now, that the Spirit is not fleeting, but here waiting. Perhaps I need to abandon “the mind” and surrender to the Spirit. Oh. But that is beyond my power.