As I type this, I’m preparing to go live in thirty minutes while drinking my second cup of coffee for the day. The first cup was at about 2pm in anticipation of my Acoustic Matinee. I’m running on disrupted sleep. My quarantine sleep schedule has drifted so much that the last few days I’ve been waking up at 10 or 11pm, which makes a 3pm show schedule more oppressive than it should be. About twenty minutes after the show, the scaffold of coffee and weed suddenly collapsed, and I became a zombie, eventually conceding that I was useful for nothing but taking a nap. Now I’m waking myself up for the second time.
Sometime in my zombie stupor it occurred to me that if I were still touring, I’d probably be walking to a greyhound bus station in a strange city carrying luggage and a guitar while unable to form full cogent thoughts.
I didn’t rest enough in those days.
People used to get palpably distressed when I described my life. I understand that feeling a bit more now.
The last thing I was doing before I began this entry was mindlessly scrolling facebook while drinking coffee. Or in other words, “wasting time.”
Or in other words, resting.
Rest is important. Supremely important. It’s occurred to me before in meditation that there’s never really a moment in which I’m wasting time, regardless of what my deeply traumatized 12H Saturn (and the deeply traumatizing cishet patricarchial capitalist machine) tries to tell me. When I’m not actively doing the will of Adjua Luna, I’m actively working on myself, which is also the will of Adjua Luna. When I’m doing neither of those, I’m resting, which is working on myself, which is the will of Adjua Luna.
Nothing is ever wasted. Neither effort nor it’s lack.
Maybe I’ll return to this subject later, but I’m going live soon and I have to prepare.