I've been still now for the better part of 30 hours. Mostly still, anyway.
I've been sick, which is not fun.
But the interesting part is that as I crawl out of the sick hole, I am realizing that all the resting/sleeping/be-ing still-ing has led to something else.
I feel sort of....human. Real. Not so stressed.
I think I've lost myself over the past few weeks. I have woken up a few times lately and longed to just pull the covers over my head and hide. I have felt the fingers of something dark creeping around the edges of my sanity and pushed back hard to stay safe.
It's not so much where I am or what's going on in my life. It's how I'm doing it.
Or maybe it's a combination of both. Who knows.
I do know this: there is restoration in being still, with or without the illness. It's probably not safe to think that I can opt out of life for 48 hours once a month and just stay in my pajamas and sleep.
But this time, it's working.