You know the flashing hourglass that appears on your monitor when a program isn’t ready to respond?

That’s my life symbol right now.

I feel stuck in a moment, with all the pieces of my life glued into place. Watch me go through the motions of a typical day, and it looks like nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Everything is the same on the surface. Everything is stable.

But in the black box of my Self, everything has changed and is changing, moment to moment.

While the hourglass flashes, a lifetime of files are being scanned, opened, closed. My heart is fragmenting and defragmenting at the same time. I wonder over the value of my temporary files. What should be saved? What should be deleted? What am I meant to keep?

My soul hums and groans as it lifts and shifts the data of my life: words, pictures, plans, messages, and memory. So much is at stake. I don’t want to crash. I don’t want to succumb to program errors.

The flashing hourglass asks for patience while the unchanging screen puts a calm façade over the frenzy of electric energy beneath the surface.

“ We’re not ready. Wait. Wait. Wait.”

And so I stop, breathe, wait, and wonder.

I indulge in Big Questions: What do I really want? What am I afraid of?

I pause. I process. I resist the urge to try and click ahead.

October 25, 2007