Drop

Drop the story.

Drop knowing.

Drop any boredom you might harbor,

like life isn’t quite good enough for you.

Reach into the construct of your identity, and sift through the nuts and bolts.

Give a loving glance to all this stuff

as your hand grazes the inner-you, the one you can’t separate yourself from

even try as you might.

Would you hold these things, these constructs

and drop them in the Ocean like taking a bath?

You will still be you, but you might feel and act in a different way.

You might see things in a way you didn’t know was possible.

The “seeing” will happen all throughout the body, not just the eyes!

Maybe you’ll weep, like I do

when the whole Universe is revealed through a single photograph

a poem

a kiss.

Forgiving ourselves for forgetting

(constantly, daily)

the sublime honor

of having a heart.

 

*

 

The Path

 

Will you walk with me down the path

Into the heart of the matter?

The seeming odds are inconsequential

As matter ceases to be

For what is left

After “you” are gone?

Who is the life breathing in you now?

Is it the same life as the one before you?

The one you love

The one you hate

The one you feel indifferent to?

These questions matter most

When I am forgetting

Who is who

And what a treasure exists

When we recognize each other

*

The true test comes

When only you are remembering

Can you remember

When he or she or they forget?

When they are yelling at you

Or irritating you

Or making you feel all kinds of uncomfortable

When you feel triggered

Slowly, slowly

A breath comes

Small victories

are gems.

 

*

 

 

Over It

 

I’ve been feeling riled up and at the end of my rope.  I have my list of reasons why my life is challenging right now.  I have my bag of feelings telling me: this is too hard, I need to find a way out, I can’t do this, I’m failing.  I’m keeping struggle and conflict nearby, like they are part of my identity.

I’m tired.  I’m edgy.  I’m “this close” to biting your head off.

Like a wounded animal, I snarl and back into my cave.  Don’t fuck with me.

I can taste the blood in my mouth, the blood of this heart I’ve been carrying around, and I realize that it is MY heart.  The anger and frustration are in vain because they only lead back to self-sabotage.

Bruises are blooming upon the mind that keeps punching itself.  But once you’re in a downward spiral, none of this matters.  You are drunk on this conviction that THIS IS ALL WRONG.

The blood leaks from the corners of my mouth.

*

I don’t know how to put my heart back in my body.

I don’t know how to find stillness in this world that is so very cracked.

I don’t know how to meet the standards it takes to be a “good mother,” a “good woman,” a “good human being.”

The satisfaction is always a step away, an achievement away, a validation away.

“I’m almost there.”

“I’m going to make it.”

“Everything is going to be okay.”

“My kids are going to turn out fine.”

“Someday, I will find love.”

But this is now.

*

Something in me is crying, because it is right here, and it always has been, and I’m so sorry I’ve forgotten again.  I forgot it about you, and him, and her, and me and all of us.

Help me remember.

Help me find my way back when I’m lost like this.

Will you shine your light on the path that leads to the field that Rumi speaks of?

*

I had a dream last night, full of the usual busy-ness and nonsense.  I had a million obligations.  I felt judged.  I was comparing myself to those around me.  I harbored a list of the 5,642 reasons why I suck.

Suddenly, I was drawn to lie down on a hidden patch of grass, dappled in sunlight.

I lay down.

It was the sweetest thing.

That feeling of failure was so strong and I was so tired from it.

I let myself rest.

I was being given a gift, lying here in the sun.  The chaos of the world was three feet away, but I was offered a respite, a moment of inactivity.

I didn’t earn that moment.

That moment didn’t fix me.

I didn’t escape my whereabouts or my looming obligations.

In that moment, as gave up on trying,

I felt loved.

*

And I was that love.

*

The Balm

The balm is always love.
Whatever it is
Whatever forgetting, the answer remains the same
As soft as the baby’s hands
As necessary as breath
As empty as the space between our cells
Mirroring the space between solid matter
throughout the Cosmos
Which leads to the question:
Is love impartial?
Yes, as Love loves all in all
Love is the response
to Existence
The quietest love
you will ever know.