Stealing the Eucharist

Before I could take the Eucharist, I thought it must be like the moon in November. An icy disk that would melt in my mouth, illuminating me from the inside. That was long before I became an atheist. But I am so profane that I will steal the Eucharist for my purposes now. I want to distill that light and make it mine. What illuminates me from the inside? Some days I can give off light and others I hog it all to myself.

I have had a week of turning inward. Not by choice. It is never by choice. It is the switch that goes off and I find my well has run dry; I have nothing to offer. I can only look at my students and they feel alien to me. My friends I avoid. My Near One I shun. I know that if I talk to any of these really close people, I will be flat -- or worse -- cry.

So I retreat. Words have always been my refuge. Language and thinking and writing. The imagery they provide heals me. I am the helium balloon, snipped free and floating above it all. I don't wanna be down in the trenches with the rest of ya all! I want my head out of the humdrum, the helter skelter, the busy nonsense of chasing down success. I get sick of chasing. I wanna just be. Floating. Right on up to the moon where I open my mouth wide and suck in that icy wafer, letting it melt slowly on my tongue, sip-swallowing those cold trickles.

I need to step off in so many ways. I grip and grasp at my life and success relentlessly, driven. I climb too many days a week and exhaust myself every workout. My heart pounds from overtraining, threatening to leap right outta my chest and land there, red and throbbing, accusing, there on the mat. I grasp at the holds, gripping too tightly, squandering energy and pumping out my arms. I wanna be fluid with just the right amount of contact. I want the light touch that gets the job done deliberately and gracefully.

I wanna stop running so hot. I have been all red energy. I push, push, push my mind just like my muscles. I give 100% of me to my students, I listen to my colleagues and reflect their concerns, I go out with my friends and... it takes from me. I am an introvert. The debits of being outward grind down my inner savings. I have become a faker non pareil, putting out the cheer and the support for those I love. Then I crash. And I got nuttin'. No love for me, no love for anyone. Just a wrecked wracked psyche that craves illumination, that craves a Eucharist to restore it, to center it and bring it peace, to give it the right light touch where I can give graciously.

I still push for perfection. Until I can't push anymore.

At those times, it is not a choice to give or not to give, to climb or rest. My body and mind shut down. And then I remember what I have learned so many times before, in so many ways... we become stronger when we sleep. We become stronger climbers, triathletes, and runners when we give our bodies days off and allow for recovery! I become a stronger, more giving friend, teacher, and lover when I take the time to repair my mind, restore my heart. I read my climbing training guide and it tells me the same thing as my triathlon training books of old, as my heart tells me... my sleep is sanctioned, my recovery warranted.

So this is my new symbol, my new metaphor and mantra:

To that delicious moon I go, getting my Eucharist.