I re-read my morning pages and came across these two poems which applied again today.
“To yoga or to walk?” that is the question.
Either will do.
The point is to allow the incessant indecision
of chatter in my head –
the inertia –
to settle or unravel or leave.
Thoughts circle round in slower, tighter patterns;
stuck in a circular maze that turns in on itself
to a standstill.
Putting on my shoes,
opening the door,
words and sentences spray like droplets from a sprinkler
scattered on the earth
in glorious motion.
The toxic muck of stagnancy becomes fertilizer
mixing with air, dirt, and green.
The poison is diluted and transformed,
becoming energy and breath in the wind.
The morning sounds begin…
Rumbling of dreams and whispers of ghosts
clog my arteries
like bacon fat.
I invite these phantoms to speak and have their say,
then wash them away with soap and hot water.
The slate wiped clean,
I tie my worn shoes, put on my hat,
and turn the temperamental lock,
opening to a new adventure.
(-K. Gatlin, February 2014)