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A Slow Day At Home

I start with a wander. I’m out earlier than most, just me and the dog owners. It’s raining, and the woodland is alive with the music of drops and splashes.

Back home, my day is punctuated by 10-minute sits. Nothing that feels like hard work; not shutting out the world, or my thoughts. Just sitting still in the flow of it all.

Between those sits, working meditaton. Kitchen-pottering that feels as restful as it is useful. Simply because there is the space to go slow. These tasks, today, aren’t getting in the way of living. They are being alive.

Outside, a mug of hot tea in the cool front garden. The pauses in traffic like the stillness between thoughts. Noticing. The notes of bright birdsong above the urban hum of busy humans. Noticing. The seedlings and flower buds quietly growing into themselves, unhurried.

Another sit. Opening the window, a glimpse of the gardens below, tumbling with roses. The soundscape a blend of dishwasher gurgle and the chirrup-and-caw from outside. My mind beginning to unwind, matching the slow pace of my physical self. Along the way, I catch the folly of judgements half-formed. For once, I can forgive the absurd contradictions that make us human. A breeze stirring the curtains. An awareness that it’s been 10 minutes, I could get up now. But I’m in no rush.

In this bubble of slowness, gratitude swells, pricking tears. A heart-expanding appreciation for loved ones, for the life we live together, for the moments of shared wonder and easy company.

By sunset, I’ve had enough. Just enough slowness and stillness to feel full. Peace-ful. Thank-ful. Mindful.

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  1. A Day Of Self-Kindness | Sheila Bayliss

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