This and That

I am at odds with myself. All the time, it seems. I want to write. I don’t write. I want to love, I don’t love. I want to meditate. I don’t meditate. I want to spend the day in my garden. I wander for a few minutes and sometimes work a few hours. I want to walk Phoebe and most often I walk Phoebe.
I am caught between two worlds. My outer world and my inner world.
I tell myself my greater reality is my inner world.
My mind doesn’t believe that.
I waste time on the computer.
On the internet.
I think wasting time is good.
Wasting time is also meandering. It is reflective.
Doing nothing is good.
Doing nothing is everything.
My mind is a slave driver.
Meditate.
Quiet. No shut up the mind.
Write.
Am writing now.
Yes, of course I am.
It is not fiction writing.
Does that make it not writing?
Of course not.
Peace.
Peace from myself. From mind.
Badgering mind. Relentless mind.
Release me into the realm of pure song.
The song of my soul desires so little to be heard.