Mojo

Blink and it can change. Mojo that is. My entire life has been about movement, about what I can do with (and to) my body. I wish I could find satisfaction in being still, contemplating, meditating. The other day while laying on the grass in the park and reading, the warm sun tickling my skin, I watched a man meditate. He sat facing a tree for well over an hour, motionless, simply 'being'. This takes a level of focus I can't fathom. This also takes a great deal of physical awareness. His practice amazed me.

But I need to move. My mojo depends on it. Through week 7 of my recovery I felt my mojo return. My confidence creeping back into my smile a little more each day. My swagger reflected in my Saturday Night Fever strut.  In the past week my smile has receded, my swagger tucked away in the closet waiting to re-emerge, break out, run wild. I succumbed to the depression for a few days, moped around and felt sorry for myself. But I've since accepted the fact that my back will start to feel better when it starts to feel better, and I can't rush or predict when that will happen.

So my mojo will need to hibernate for a little while longer. And I'll be ready for it's return.