Running on empty…
‘tis the season… where many celebrate, where many take to the stage, where many laud in traditions and habits, and indeed many create new memories… the first time’s never forgotten… as footprints form in deep, crisp and even snow, familiar tunes from childhood are hard to escape or forget… perhaps the only way is to deck the halls with holly and stuff…
But this Christmas, and for many months, I’ve found I often just can’t perform the routines… By the end of the day there’s a dearth of energy, purpose, and value… I am running on empty. Alas, it seems my synapses do need a chemical aid. Perhaps my spirit does too. We might hope, pray or wish for visions and dreams but it’s Greek to me. The body is weak, the spirit is woeful and the mind is misled. …Fails my heart, I know not how; I can go no longer…
It’s interesting to see that the use of the word ‘routine‘ peaked in 1986… #routine
The treasures I do cling to suggest that one stops; pause, breathe, relax, yield, and look… behold around you…
I hear that we are at our happiest when we lose our self, in the object of our treasure…
I had a vivid dream where the Paul Heaton and friends came on center-stage in Hull and just could not perform anything…
I had a dream, where David Bowie and George Michael died…
I woke, empty…
However… then my daughter brought me the smell and warmth of freshly brewed coffee…
I am thankful.
I rose, and the winter scene outside was white, crisp and even…
I hear…
Take up your bed and walk…
Mark my footsteps, good my page…
The birds of the sky…
Tis the season…
Jules P Richards 