On a lazy day

On a lazy day, the morning is not rushed. I don't need my coffee fix; I don't need an alarm. I have time to cuddle my pillow longer, curl my toes under the sheets, and wander the deep recesses of my mind---where dreams and memories merge as one.

On a lazy day, my prayers I say slow and out loud...with the hope that my tiny voice is heard among a hundred million pleas thrown into the Great Expanse. Yes, I rundown things I am thankful for, things I regret, and things I yearn for. But I spend this precious time to open my heart more and listen, just listen, than clutter the space with my words. Silence has its wisdom. Silence is the Maker's voice.

On a lazy day, I take notice of the old chest in my room. Dust and cobwebs envelope old letters, diaries, thoughts, feelings and dreams of my youth. I have time to ponder, laugh at childhood whims, sometimes feel a pang of regret, and remember---remember moments I tried to forget. I figured, you cannot lie to your heart. You cannot trick memory. When time is standing still, your Self and your ghosts come face-to-face that there is nothing to do but deal with the ghouls one after another. And in the process, you come to terms with who you are, your true essence, which lies within.

On a lazy day, nothingness fills the space. What I felt yesterday may not be as painful today. What I know now may not be true tomorrow. What I try to become may not be who I will turn out to be. Nothing is certain. Nothing is set in stone. Life may be a choice, but it is laced with chance as well. And in the grand scheme of things, one just strives, dreams, and hopes.

On a lazy day, I am alone with myself. No one to turn to but the sound of rain. How I seek for moments like this---when I can breathe, be awake and yet lie asleep. And in this solitude, I have never felt so connected to the earth.

What do you do on a lazy day?