Sometimes I don’t realize how hungry I’ve become. I don’t realize it until I notice I have stopped working, dropped the rake right out of my hands, let all the thoughts fall right out of my head. I don’t notice it, until I’ve gone right away, on a journey into my surroundings. Sometimes not until someone notices that I have failed to come back.
I needed this so much…the lines and colors and smells. The sensory experiences. As a mom of young kids and a homestead wife and a creative soul and a writer, it seems my life is so full. I am full to the bursting, I am overfed. But so much of the stimulus is the kind that makes me hungrier.
My addictive iPhone.
My addictive social media presences.
My addiction to my own accomplishments.
Crossing things off lists, stacking items, growing columns taller…
Hunger is a deep metaphor for me. For a recovered bulimic, hunger is an always metaphor, it’s a forever part of me. I know how it feels to be completely controlled by hunger. And I know what it’s like to be unable to feed myself.
When I realize that hunger is what’s happening to me, I get serious. When I realize that hunger is what’s happening to me, I know that I’m at risk of not being able to control myself. This is the point at which I could cheat on all my promises, lose track of everything I hoped for, drop the frugality, the justice, the solidarity, every arena in which I claim to be Spirit-led.
Necessity makes everybody cheat.
It’s an every day work to get full up. It’s a practice, of receiving. And it is profoundly counter-cultural. Gotta open your chest, open your eyes, open your hands. Gotta get full up on the richness, promise, spirit and forgiveness.
This is how I do it. I work my body until I’m tired. I do that because I know my body shapes my mind. Sometimes you’ve got to get your body to catch up to where your brain is, so it can gently lead the way forward…into recovery. When my body comes into a healthy tired, my defenses drop. The overwhelm of “busy” and “important” and “urgent” begins to fade.
Then leaning on my rake, I receive. Riches and gold right out of the heart of my little, ordinary life.