{sludge swimming}

concrete bags.png I watch people.  It's true. Not many people get how wicked observant I am.  Trick + sleeve = that's what's up mine.  I've always been a watcher. Picking up on tiny nuances of how humans operate.  How connection happens.  Better. Best. And in its worst too. Owning this superpower most all my life, I know what you're thinking, "Where do you park your invisible jet, Meg?."  It's invisible.  Me to know.  You to find out.  Muahahahaha. #keepitthirdgrademeg #nice 

I would love to say that this watching, this intricate observance I have with my surroundings, has helped me to learn life's biggies faster.  But, it hasn't.  I am warped by self. By the sludge I swim in.  This sludge is mine.  I own it.  And yet, I allow it to carry me with its bleak and stagnate current.

Have you ever had that moment where you owned the release of self?  For the love of all things, do not compare that last statement to Oprah. Puhleese. Seriously though.  Have you ever had the aha of "I am stifling my better?"  That moment? It's authentically bitter. It's authentically real.  There's a wave of huge disappointment mixed with a hint of denial followed by a flood of good.  Vibes are upward once this scene happens for you.  Note that the up isn't easy.  Resistance is all up in yo' kitchen.  Unless you're balloon.  Then you're just full of air.  Up is work.  But up is where endurance is born.  And there is freedom in feeling strong.  In knowing better.

Truth? Sludge swimming sucks.  Holy truth?  You don't have to do it.  Real world truth?  You will have to remind yourself of this one hundred eleventy-three thousand times in your life.  Awesome truth?  Each time you have that aha, you are one step closer to your best self.  Moment of truth?  The daily work you do stops sludge swimming.

Kenny is installing a basketball goal for the boys.  These sacks of concrete have been in our garage for a few weeks.  Each time I send my watchy-watchy eyes their way, I hear whispers...

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They're like little sludgy reminders that I have the choice.  The decision to stop swimming is mine.  And my efforts, be them little or big, are doing a mighty work for Him.  Why?  Because this Earthly body is nothing but His vessel.  His borrowed skin and bones for my forever soul.

Me and my invisible jet are learning. We do fly bys. We watch still.  And it seems like the more I'm outside of sludge swimming, the more God places good things in my flight pattern to see.  Better yet, feel. I think I'm up to eleventy-three thousand and one. But I'm a watcher, remember?  Not a counter.

.mac :)