Holiday travel, family celebrations, and a family medical procedures have removed me from my places and routines the last four weeks. When I’m in a groove, in step with my routine, I forget that even simple things, like being still to be present, are learned practices.
These are some lines that came during a generative writing session last week. I think I miss my routine more than I know.
Be present
Be present.
And you breathe,
and you try to pay attention.
And you’re listening.
There are so many voices.
And you’re responding.
There are so many needs.
And you reach to wipe your brow
where bits of the moment,
of many moments,
have seeped through your pores.
What happened?
What were they?
No more than the dampness on your sleeve now.
You’ve missed it.
And you collapse,
exhausted from the work of being present.
And you see the flower on your desk has wilted.
They tell you, “Do it!”
They don’t give you the textbook.
No user manual.
They don’t explain.
So we sweat through anxious,
wet moments
and they slip away from us
anyway.
No one told us, “Be still.”
We went to schools of movement,
not stillness.
Move through the lessons…
Addition, subtraction, multiplication, division,
Oh my… now you’re ready for
algebra, long equations, functions, angles, and calculations.
Move through the ages,
prehistoric, ancient, middle,
modern histories here, the classical stories there,
kings and wars,
the soap operas of political marriages and betrayals,
alliances that collapse into conflict.
We were entrained to move through these
textbooks,
to practice and hone skills of movement,
to think and move through thought,
to problem solve,
to science,
to deconstruct and reconstruct.
It’s no wonder the present is under our feet
and not in our senses.
No wonder the present worries through us as task,
sweaty palms and conundrums.
“Be present” is a good directive.
But it should have been preceded with lessons in being still.
Not sitting still,
where we open our skulls to receive
and move through all the lessons.
Being still.
Be still.
In the still,
where we can hear our own thoughts,
feel our chests rise and collapse with life,
become singular with the moment we’re in.
Be still
to allow our internal universe
to expand.
Timid touch
to connect with the world we’ve been so busy
moving through.
Be present.
It’s a learned skill,
a practice.
It’s a gift we give ourselves.
©Pennie Nichols. All Rights Reserved. 2025.
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