Red Lights Flashing

Every week is in it's own phase of high or low. I feel like a tiny ship riding high waves of an angry ocean, sailing towards the horizon. But every time the storm clears, I think I've reached my destination, and I drop my anchor. And every time clouds gather and the sky turns grey, I get tired. Tired because I've fooled myself into thinking I was there, again and again.

                                                                              Dog days, Bogotá ©  Alec Soth

I meditate. Eighty-five percent of the time, I meditate twice a day, for twenty minutes. Sometimes more, if my blind eyes don't see the red lights of our silent alarm flashing. Sometimes less, if I get up too late.
Saturdays are free. On Monday I have a class that teaches in Zen Meditation.
I'm not going to explain what one does when they practice this, but I will say I've been struggling lately. I have a hard time focusing. A hard time to be strict towards myself, and keep counting. And now the twenty minutes become a frustration, a disappointment, instead of a joy.

One of the best things about it is, though, that twice a day you get the chance to start over. To try again.
When does that ever happen?

So, I will not be angry with myself for feeling like this tonight. 

Tomorrow is a new day.