Stepping out of the flow

Falling in and out of the river

The flow - what is it exactly? The flow I am here referring to is the one that runs rivulets round our veins, the kind that uplifts and carries us forward, even when things get stiff. The kind that keeps us in motion, and, nowadays, what we like to call ‘on top of things’ - what things? If anyone has any insight please let me know, I think I may have lost them long long ago.

So lately I’ve been drifting… flowing on those dot dot dots. My days feel short and sudden, then they’re gone. I’ve been finding myself on the edge, most days, busy with various detached entanglements. Not what I’d call flow.

I suppose there are times when we are buzzing like an internal battery or bee, and all things feel brand new, we jump headfirst into it and hope to be carried and know, in a very bodily, visceral kind of way — that we will. That the flow will take us under.

Once we are in the flow, nothing else matters. The motion itself holds meaning.

And then we start to ebb.. Something comes up in our life that calls the flow to not exactly stop but take a breath, a break, a pause, a detour. And because we stepped out of the flow, it can be just so hard to slide back in.

Because the flow is now a wild, dangerous current raging down the mountain and we cannot for the life of us seem to jump back in. There are all these tiny little things that hold our life together and