A tickle in my throat last week has turned into a full-blown, all-consuming, unrelenting hack-a-thon.
Days of waking up like it’s Groundhog Day: in a trash heap of sweat, cough drop wrappers, and remedies; mystified that this storm system, which has settled like a squatter in my throat and chest, appears to be going nowhere fast. No change, no progress, no light at the end of the tunnel. Ugly.
I can feel the mind sitting there, just salivating to go on field day of worst-case scenarios. If I let it.
This morning appeared to be no different from all the others, except for one (significant) thing.
I detached.
I took a sip of water, laid myself back down on the heaping chaos that is my bed, and decided not to fight anymore. In an instant, there it was.
Stillness.
The enveloping, quieting, renewing magic… of grace.
