I am surrounded by hills and today the clouds looked as though they were bouncing across them. There has been a clear sky and I could see for miles. My imagination often saves me from a dark place, or when the pain is bad I can think about the history of life that has taken place around me.
Those seconds and minutes are worth it to imagine what I might do when I feel a little better - not thinking about what I've been unable to achieve.
I have watched some squirrels scurrying across the leaves and busily preparing for winter. It's about taking time to stop and notice life and remain present within it.
Lovely!
"What I might do when I feel a little better" can help endure and get out of a flare,
and help grieve for and let go of our old life and embrace and motivate for the new.
Adding a few further thoughts...
I don't have to wait till I feel a little better tho:
whether in a backlash or flare or better, I'm always full of simple plans what I want to do next, in any moment there will be 3 or 4 things I want to and can do, and 100s on the list and I keep imagining how it'll feel when I've got them done, but of course something else crops up which is even more fun.
So I can leave out the "when" bit, in case it pulls me down, whilst "what I might do" alone pulls me up.
May sound really weird, but the part of me that wants to do my many resting activities, mainly online, actually looks forward to the next backlash, cos it justifies me not having to 'do' anything except write, research garden plants, supps, to make the next plans. That's life anyway, getting the balance right between doing and resting. And this is the first time in my life where I've learnt to enjoy resting. Cos resting to me often meant boredom or facing depressing or fearful thoughts or not being able to justify my existence. (Now I can embrace more clearly that I am justified to rest and just enjoy.)
So - there's always something nice I can think of to do in the future.
In the special moments themselves however, I usually don't imagine the future just as little as the past. That's like how you brilliantly express it at the end "be present within it" - also meaning being present in the present, rather than in the past and/or future. And that's cos in my long experience with anxiety it's the films in my head of the past
and the future which make everything so tough. And once I imagine the future, I'm comparing it with the present, and once I'm comparing it's hard to prevent images of the past from coming up, even if I try not to actively compare.
Another way of extending those special moments is the "artificial" one of photos and films. Artificial maybe, but also art. Photos of people don't work for me, maybe cos they take me into the past, away from the here and now. But my photos and films of the plants and wildlife in my garden now help me create many special moments out of one, a new one to me I started with the gardening last winter. Because I look more intensely, look for new perspectives on a blossom for instance. The camera can blow up even the 2mm blossom of a veronica/speedwell hidden in the grass, or one that is face down which I can't get under myself, so I can get a better and more wondrous glimpse of the reality in front of me. Then identify them with a tool helps me "know" them and being able to name is part of 'making happiness' - "taming", as the fox in The Little Prince says ("establishing ties"). To be truly wondrous for me they have to be my own plants, others can't give quite the same happiness. Although sharing, taking part, is another bit of it - secondary bonding I spose? The photo allows me to gaze longer and more often than my body and the weather does. And rouses the desire and helps to take a better look next time, so a roundabout back to "reality".