We Pine for Fridays Because We Live Separate from Ourselves and Life

We Pine for Fridays Because We Live Separate from Ourselves and Life

The act of throwing ourselves to the pavement and into a frenzy because, at long last, we’ve reached Friday is outdated and needs ending. This myopia says much about the maturity of Western society, and how much we compartmentalize our lives, separate ourselves from joy, family, friends, nature, our gifts, values, intuition, a deeper calling, and much more.
Personally, I am glad I no longer crave Friday nights, nor loathe Monday mornings. I am grateful I cannot separate work from play, professional from personal, and that I continuously fail to know if it is a statutory holiday. Each day unfolds into the next as though it is one continuous movement that cannot be broken down into fragments that split me apart, leaving bits of me shattered and scattered onto the floor of time. Life moves with me, as I do with it, carrying me moment-to-moment with an ever-diminishing sense of beginnings and endings, of here and there. From this place, I belong.
But when our lives are broken asunder it is a reflection of our brokenness inside. This ongoing separation that we assume to be “normal” is beyond toxic, for at its root it is a separation from our soul, from what truly moves us, and brings us most alive. It is why I sometimes ask my clients, “What part of You do you not bring to work with you?” What part of ourselves is deemed unwelcome Monday to Friday while trudging along with our professional hats squeezed on tight? What part of the extension of ourselves called nature and life is kept at bay such that we get on with the busyness of things, and scratch and claw our way to workweek’s end?
Imagine how much we bear throughout our body during the week for us to scream out loud, “Thank God it’s Friday!” and desperately imbibe that glass of wine. Imagine how much we push ourselves down and away, like a beach ball under water, to keep ourselves functioning, fitting in, feeling together, seemingly that is. And imagine how much of this angst trickles or surges into our relationships with our children, spouses, friends, and into the cells of our body.
Depression is repression, the denial of ourselves and our rightful place in life to live with a ceremonial instinct that includes all matters unseen speaking through our cells in the eternal now. We arise as we give ourselves back to this timelessness that is our most natural state, instead of depending on time for glimpses and aberrations of it.
The spell of separation is truly unsustainable, much like how it is unsustainable to act as if separate from Mother Earth. The great advance lies in dismantling the walls that keep this spell alive, and in that death we become alive once again, like children who cannot separate their play from their learning, their joys from this moment, their dreams from reality.

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Check out Vince’s book: Wild Empty Spaces ~ Poems for the Opening Heart

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