I was quite sure I was going crazy. For years I walked around talking to myself in my head. I know we all do this. But as well as the usual internal dialogue, I imagined not conversations so much, as monologues.
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To stay afloat
you must set aside praying
and save yourself.
You do the thing
you think you cannot do…
Nothing is for nothing.
Everything is rooted,
a branch, an expression
of that to which it belongs…
I don’t know how it will end. I know it will never end. All is life and death, famine and glut.
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If we could do it—
receive with grace what is given
without busying ourselves
in the name of deserving…
That something
you feel called to,
the almost-voice you hear…
Branches sweep up and over,
leaves reveal their underside,
the whole garden leans, bows,
as if honouring some new truth.
I could feel it, that feeling again. The same one I get each time. Not I hope I find something or maybe I’ll find something but rather, there is something.
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Content in the dark, loving the feeling of being alone under the stars, the pull of sleep was strong.
Open your eyes.
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A river will bite
at the bank that bars its way.
Backed up against the wall of itself…
The older we get, the harder it is to be surprised in this way. But when we are, the unknown unnamed stands out, sharp in relief and fine in detail. It is like a cut-out scene in a pop up book, curious and enchanting.
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I wanted, and want still, what I can’t have. I want to sit by him while he paints.
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At times your life will show itself
arriving in the dancing sunlight,
landing with a soft stirring of air.
What you experience instead is the fizzing aliveness of plants and animals, curiosity at how things naturally unfold, and magical combinations that we could never imagine nor contrive.
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Knowing that the anchor
was thrown too far from the boat
all that time ago
reunion can’t come soon enough.
I want to say it’s alright.
I want to say you can sleep now,
but then I think of Rumi…
Those first lines
now forgotten,
hidden in the blinding green,
lost in the flurry of life’s business…
You’ll come for yourself eventually,
walking backwards from the future
or flying up behind like a mighty wind.
Between earth and air
lies the language of sun,
speaking,
responding in clouds.
There should be one
for the moment I saw her
through a telescope
and cried…