Not Enough Too Much

Duckes Meadow. Down by the river Exe the other evening in the company of solitary swan.

This morning I woke with a thought going round in my head.

I think I don't have enough respite. Or enough sleep. Or enough time. Or enough money.

I think I have too much pain. Too many shoes. I think I spend too much money on food. I eat too much chocolate. I think Robin talks too much. Or not enough. Or says PBW too much. Or eats too many biscuits.

But what if today I had exactly the right amount of respite. Exactly the right amount of sleep. Exactly the right amount of chocolate. What if it's perfect that Robin talks as much or as little as he does.

Or it's not really the right amount because there isn't a wrong amount. It's me wanting it to be more, less, better or different that is the real problem. It's me 'arguing with reality' as Byron Katie would say.

I suppose it's a version of being here now. Which I'm not good at. But if I just notice how pale and tired I look in the mornings, how cross and disappointed I feel most of the time, without thinking it's bad or I should be different - that would be a relief. That everything is as it is meant to be till it changes. Which it always does. Which is somehow not the same as just accepting it - more about observing it without judging it.

But  I notice at this very moment I'm feeling disappointed about something, and I think it's too late to still be blogging and I won't get enough sleep....and how pointless to have a great insight, to write about it and not to practise  it.

Oh well, maybe observing my judgement, with kindness, is a start.