The daily good today is rest.
Some people might think that it is odd that I would write about rest, because I try to do a lot different things and am a busy person. But rest means different things for different people: for some of us, it means rest from light and noise and being awake; for others it could be being alone and listening to only oneself; and for a few people I know, rest is not quiet, but active motion without introspection.
For me, rest can be many different things: time with (or away from) words, time with sleep-after a good night's rest, I am reborn, as Gandhi says. But I also feel the same exact way after finishing a good piece of writing. Not writing that is "fluff", as one of my dear writerly friends calls it. No. I mean writing that holds you in one place until you are done with it or, most of the time, when it is finished with you. This is the best of kind of rest to me.
Each time I write something weighty and good, it releases me from the heaviness that comes with having carried it around. It's another kind of sleep, the sleep of the writerly mind caught mid-motion, stepping between one story and the next. That is a kind of rest, too.
And after that rest, there is the waking up, which looks and feels like this:
Writing is a holy act, and its sacrament is the finished story. But the spaces in-between the stories, that is needed too.