on calm abiding

Calm abiding. The words alone hearten my soul and lighten my heart. Remembering to say them when life does its sharp tap dancing on my last nerve or noggin? That’s the trick.
 
The more things fall apart, the more lighthearted my spirit can get—but only if I can get out of my own way and let things fall. Trying to fix everything (or even something), trying to work hard enough, trying to understand, trying to plan, trying to hold those falling things together? Is a recipe for disaster and mental turmoil.
 
And yet.
And yet. To live in the regular world, do we not have to work at things? Do we not have to plan? Do we not have to try to understand? Do we not at some point have to fix something (or several somethings in quick succession) or hold together what is falling apart? The literal world kicks in the teeth of the spiritual one. Calm abiding must rest in the doing, too, or it is of no import on this planet to those of us who cannot retreat from the work and duties of everyday life. The challenges. The struggles. The losses. The wins. The failures. The celebrations. The daily wrestling to be sufficient for the troubles and triumphs of every moment.
I like the notion of calm abiding. I like the words. I like that they make me feel serene no matter what is actually happening when I say them to myself. Perhaps somewhere in there lies a bridge between vision and reality. Perhaps calm abiding is doing enough. On occasion.
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