Even if I wanted to skip sitting in my leather chair this morning, Susie would have none of it. She’s become my daily sage and spiritual guide, coaxing me to sit down, calm down and clear away yesterday’s debris before plowing into today.
This morning, I made the coffee, filled Susie’s and Delia’s dishes and started scrolling through emails while I heard the coffee drip. Just opening that electronic screen was enough–to distract me into the rush of day. Politics. Bills. Appointments I had forgot. All of them avalanching upon me before I even had chance to sit.
Meanwhile, Susie, had already had chance to go and wait for me on our leather chair. And wait. And wait while I became transfixed by Google and Gmail and other more mundane things.
But like the anchoress she be, like mid-century saints living dedicated, prayerful lives, Susie held to our solitary chair and meowed for me to join her. Endlessly. Until I sat down and started to pray. And then, she fell asleep.
I had never thought of either Susie or Delia of being anything like a British mid-century saint before. (Neither had revealed the accent or a preference for mackerel over tuna). But this morning, Susie’s insistence that I come and sit, despite my human frailty to spike the day, reminded me of those kindly saints–like Julian of Norwich–quarantined in what was called an anchorite attached to a tiny cell aside a church for their entire lives. And Julian’s simple message–“All is well.”
As it should be today. If I follow my anchoress’ advice and begin my day. Slowly. Without haste or rush. Without electronic screens.
Sitting in my leather chair with gratitude with my sage spiritual guide repeating often, “All is well.”