Rumi wrote a bit about waking, lonely and upset, and taking down an instrument and playing..he suggested not to work, not to read, not to write..I imagine to banish the tortured thoughts some of us have in the morning through playing music. I suppose I am not taking his advice, as the best time to write seems to me to be morning, when my thoughts are backed up and a dream has taken center stage for most of the night. I am one of Rumi’s unhappy wakers, saddened by the truth, fearful for my future.
In my dream, I avoided being stepped on by a horse, a gentle horse of my slight acquaintance who is quite large, a Clydesdale blend in fact. I was laying on the ground and rolling away, not overly worried. I woke to memories of listening to my husband get up in the morning, showering for what seemed hours. At some point into our marriage I gave up on my own shower in the morning. He did not let me shower in the morning; I tried asking, insisting, persuading, bargaining. I finally stopped talking about it. I gave up.
When I write “he did not let me” that isn’t entirely true. He’d let me have all the ice cold water I wanted after he was done.
That sounds like control and a minor abuse, and I struggle with that perception. He lost track of time. I could have gotten up earlier. He didn’t say I couldn’t shower, he merely, thoughtlessly, made the choice to stay in the shower until the hot water ran out. That was his cue to move on. I got tired of talking about it; I adjusted, I showered at night, or later in the day if possible, yet I also needed to “get to work “on some of those days. So is it a big deal?
I can point to greater, cinematic events that ended my marriage, but I wonder if it’s really the small decisions made over and over again that erode and wear away, and leave one looking for small courtesies in other venues. You can roll away from being stepped on, and not be overly worried, and then wake up, and realize you’re tired of rolling over, and wonder why you are still in that pasture.