the binding of a book

I once thought if I had more energy and moved faster I could get ahead of myself, and I did, I got ahead of myself and all there was to see and comprehend, and made the mistake in rushing about off-centered; so tonight in the early phase of my routine I dropped into the plush green easy chair for a brief meditation after championing my breakfast of Lucky Charms, granola and coffee, and let go of my yearning to handle it all (ahead of it all), and rediscovered some deep bottom faith (somewhere in the muck where I misplaced it) and took it up in my hands and my head and held it where it was shining, there captivating my attention. Then I looked around the four walls and studied the kitchen table I recently lugged off the street (as the plush chair long before it, things tend to appear magically on our sidewalk in the middle of the night!), which was wonderfully sized, rectangular within the greater rectangle of this room, and all the life of a kitchen I have created over time, the knives and wooden dish rack, and coffee mugs strewn about, the plants and the coffee roaster, the tea kettle turning brown off chrome from use, and pleasing the dark grains against lighter grains of wood, the cutting boards and cabinets on two white walls around. My faith restored me, thank god I found it. I will again hang it for sure in the balance of the day, perhaps leave it draped over some lucky person or thing I encounter. Okay, this is life. Discovery often happens not in the press, but in the sitting and letting it all settle to the bottom so the clarity returns. Then may faith shore me, Center me so I can begin again with a more sustainable effort, like the binding of a book for to keep all the loose leaf in place and make sense of my life written down.