INTERSTITIAL COMMUNICATION #17: Sun Day

I learned to start Sundays off with gratitude. Church girl out the church but not the holy outta me, if you get me.

I’m lifting weights, literally warming up in a sunbeam, and I’m thinking about our sun. I’m thinking about how grateful I am that something in our corner of eternity has the strength to pull us upward and forward. How lovely that the sun’s pull has arranged us all in a way that makes life on our planet possible. I chuckle when I realize this is why We worship The Sun as a concept.

My arms ache and burn, but I push. I want to have that kind of strength.

My first year of dedicated strength training meant that I was strong enough to climb steep stone steps leading to the top of a temple dedicated to Kinich Ahau, the Sun-Faced Lord.1

Afterward, my legs burned, so I lay in the plush grass in the middle of a Mayan city. I let my heartbeat slow as I tried to imagine the sound of their footsteps across time.

In the days since, I’ve been tired.

I’ve slowed to a crawl.

Again.

I used to run until my legs gave out, and then I’d push, fall, and catch myself with my hands. And I’d crawl until my knees bled. I’d drag myself across finish lines and bleed until I couldn’t feel much of anything at all.

I swore I’d never do it again but,

I could blaspheme; I could choose to flagellate. I could call myself a backslider for the habit of burnout I haven’t quite managed to kick.

But nah, gratitude.

Because I know what to do next.

I’ve slowed to a crawl, but it does not require a blood price.

…early mornings.

…waves to the barista I’d like to be friends with.

…taking of a portrait in an impromptu photoshoot with his mother-in-law.

…hug from one of my neighborhood aunties as I promise to trim her tree and find her tulip bulbs next season. A giggle as I send her the gorgeous photos of her early spring roses and a video of a bumblebee kissing the secondary summer blooms of the same bush.

…laughter in my home as my “new” landlord, whom I’ve known since he was a kid, compliments what I’ve turned the space into after all these years. I invite him back to simply hang out and raid my bookshelves. He’s almost the age I was when this place first became my nest.

…warm feeling of holding my friend’s hands as we walk through our city.

…love I feel when they put food on my plate, and I put food on theirs.

… the exhalation of pain and relief as the masseuse alchemizes the score kept in the tissues of my body.

…waiter from January remembering my face when I popped back into my favorite burger joint for the first time since we met.2

…way his face lit up when I remembered his name.

…screams and applause from strangers finding joy when I sing.

…the sweat I shed and the transformation of the land I had been called to steward.

…satisfaction when strength ripples through my body, and I pull apart the overgrowth to open up new pathways of light for what needs to flourish down below.

…giggles of my girlies as we have girls’ night and kikikikikikikikikikiki over our crafts.

…faces of my darlings when we’re having family dinner nights and slow sundays and other holy communions that remind us that we are one body with many hearts.

…pride as my purpose meets me where I am every single day. Just like I knew it would. 3

I’ve slowed to a crawl. And I thank the sun for lingering across my skin.