Good Friday: this floating space

I’m suspended here, in this floating space just before Pascha,
in the air, in the water, it’s hard to explain.

Before I have coffee in the morning there’s that groggy brain poking through, telling me I have to get up, get going, get things done but I’m not really listening. It’s automatic now, this waking up at 6am whether I need to be up or not. And so I get up, stretch my arms, rub my eyes and slouch toward the door, toward the stairs, toward the kitchen and the coffee maker and the brewing.

It’s Good Friday. Where’s Lent gone, anyway?

The commercials make it seem as though it’s the scent of the coffee brewing that really starts to lift the veil of sleep but you know, that’s kind of a lie. All it does is make me hunger for the coffee. I’m not more awake or more ready to begin the day, I’m just thirsty.

I don’t live such a fast paced life. I have a certain luxury of time when the kids are at school. The rush to get everyone out the door happens between 6am and 9am and then my time is fluid, like air, like water. Freedom, choice, pressure, the water pressing in from all sides, time slipping between my fingers- oily, tangible. I have to accomplish something before the after school pick up, homework, dinnertime, bedtime rush begins. I ought to have something to show for it. I need to be productive. I have to use that noble currency well, that luxury of time.

It’s Good Friday. Where’s Lent gone, anyway?

Only yesterday I was starting with the fast, the focus, the prayer, the additional Liturgies, the dark pall of waiting and watching and wondering if I can go even one more day without this or that, cheese, eggs, meat, wine… And now, we’re here at the foot of the cross. Where’s Lent gone, anyway?

I made a list this morning through the groggy brain fog gently lifting, warm coffee reaching caffeinated arms around me. The list was long. Still much to do before Pascha, before school starts again next week, before my daughter begins driving classes, before the looming project deadlines.

And then it’s 10am and then 11 and 11:30 and 12 and I look at my list and the list is still long, still sullen, still pressing in. Nothing to show for it. The day is eaten away and there’s still much to do but I’m suspended here, in this floating space just before Pascha, and I’m hungering for something as I stretch my arms and rub my eyes, time running through my fingers. I’m suspended here,
in the air, in the water, it’s hard to explain.