I know.  I do.

I, too, had plans.  So many plans.  Plans within plans.  Plans for years.  Plans for miles.

Plans that have fallen away so fast I am already forgetting what it felt like to trust in them.

Now all plans, even for the day, are held lightly – balanced on a fingertip and blown away in a whispered Inshallah.

There is less movement, but little stillness. My mind runs in place. There are still others to care for, and it is a blessing. Only my desire to model the calm I wish for them that reminds me to make use of this time by remaining active, but not busy. To do less with great intention. And when even that doesn’t go according to plan, to set good intentions aside and just be. Together. To trust without planning. To be still. To stay home and get well without being resentful of the privilege.

Room at Twilight by Charles Blackman

“You have been forced to enter empty time.
The desire that drove you has relinquished.
There is nothing else to do now but rest
And patiently learn to receive the self
You have forsaken in the race of days.

At first your thinking will darken
And sadness take over like listless weather.
The flow of unwept tears will frighten you.

You have traveled too fast over false ground;
Now your soul has come to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up
To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain
When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,
Taking time to open the well of color
That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone
Until its calmness can claim you.
Be excessively gentle with yourself.

Stay clear of those vexed in spirit.
Learn to linger around someone of ease
Who feels they have all the time in the world.

Gradually, you will return to yourself,
Having learned a new respect for your heart
And the joy that dwells far within slow time.”

– from “For One Who is Exhausted, a Blessing” by John O’Donohue