It was a long day yesterday

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I had been doing quite well. My head was clear, the thoughts were minimal. The new exercise I had been given was really keeping the ghosts at bay and I was relaxing.
Until i was confronted about my children’s heritage, and what I was doing about it. At that point, when I read the email, I was fine. I was fine for an hour or so afterwards. The email was in response to my blog. A friend reading it was asking me questions about my choices. They were reasonable questions. I had no issue with them. Until my brain seemed to dissolve as if ammonia had been poured on wax and it just turned into a mass of dripping holes. I think it was all the more noticable because things had been going so well up to that point.
I spent most of the rest of the day going over all the choices we had made, analysing all the reasons why we were not living in France. I thought about replying to the email but it would have been a novel, and from trhere I realised how minute weblog is, yet how hugely it is perceived.
Yogi Bhajan used to say you have 7000 choices every second. It is true. There is so much all the time. Our lives are made up of millions of descisions. I think that is why children are so exhausting at times because you have to make so many choices for them, too. Choices are not only what shall I eat, what shall I do, but also just the tiny physical choices: go this way, smile, frown, laugh. Suddenly you can see how many choices there are. When I write, or anyone else writes weblog it is just an expanded moment out of millions of moments. So the choice of moment dictates what is written about, but it can in no way convey the full enormity of what one goes through. I have been writing about yesterday in a light and easy way, but it challenged so much. It was tearing down structures, not only those based on our choices as to how and where we live, but the business, how important was it, children’s education, to live or to suffer, and more important than all of that to me, was how badly I was managing my head. That I was so easily melting into a morass of shit and hideousness.
There is a mantra that can stop the head. The trick is to remember to use it. To have enough stability somewhere to choose to use it to grind the turmoil to a halt. I was driving at 70 miles an hour, the mind going at 90 and I did the mantra, 5 times. Suddenly there was stillness. It all stopped. The earth was still racing along under the car, but the voices and the hormonal tumult had subsided. The plug had been pulled and it was all over. I lay on the beach for a couple of hours and read my book and made sandcastles with Isadora.
My choices are not all my own. I am married. I have children. Everything. Every moment is a negotiation. All has been discussed a thousand times, all has been dissected and the descisions are good.
I breathe a sigh of relief and hope that after sitting and meditating this morning, all will be easier today.