There

It’s strange how
I let go
In every way I know
And yet you’re still
There

I don’t understand why
I let go
In every way I can
And yet you’re still
There

Is it futile?

Will you always be
There?

Emily Dickinson

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church—
I keep it, staying at Home—
With a Bobolink for a Chorister—
And an Orchard, for a Dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice—
I, just wear my Wings—
And instead of tolling the bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton—sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman—
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last—
I’m going, all along.

On Mortality

Life is: feeling the passage of time as an ever-pulling current, the pressure to make the most of the unknown quantity of sand remaining in your hourglass. 

It is only death which gives our lives any meaning at all. And yet, most humans seem to spend most of their waking hours attempting to evade this fact. We are absolutely obsessed with staying alive. We are also obsessed with distracting ourselves from our own mortality. I have a hunch that people who engage in high-risk activities may subconsciously fear death more than the average person. Being able to return from the brink of death repeatedly could be a way of confirming their own assumed immortality. 

Highly religious people seem, to me, those who fear death most. The idea of losing their identity horrifies them so much, they must cling to a belief wherein they will not truly die but continue to exist forever, as the personality they are here in this world. They are so completely identified with their ego, they cannot fathom letting it go when their spirit leaves this body.

And I understand that the mere thought of releasing attachments to the perceived self, and, almost worse-so– to the people we love, is absolutely unappealing to most of us. It definitely was for me. But just a small glimpse of the connectedness of everything and the identity of nothing is so exhilarating, so stunningly beautiful, everything else seems to fall away. And I cannot believe that my highly-religious upbringing didn’t convey even an ounce of this truth to me.

It is laughable, really, how religions (especially the 3 largest monotheistic ones) have managed to reduce the Divine to such an awful representation of the source of pure light, love and wholeness. 

“One of the main functions of organized religion is to protect people against a direct experience of God.” – Carl Jung

pure light

and when you stand in awe 
before the Divine
you understand why
for millennia
even the greatest poets
were rendered silent

Calluses

Just like every morning, you wake me up by rubbing my hands and aggressively snuggling closer.

Your body is warm and soft, yet so clumsily brutal in the manner of a small human still learning how to control sharp elbows and lethal knees.

I squint against the early morning sun filtering in through the window behind our bed, and hug you tightly against my own soft body in what I know is a futile attempt to convince you to let us both sleep just a little longer.

I rub my nose against your blond curls, deeply inhaling the scent of infancy which still lingers there. My hands wander across your back and down your ever-lengthening legs in a gentle massage. Like countless times before, I let my fingers slip around your foot, which fits so perfectly inside my hand.

A startling sensation jolts to my comprehension. On your soft baby soles, which kicked me from within not long ago, I feel the beginnings of hardness.

It’s really not astonishing at all, of course. This is your second year on your own two feet. And like your brothers (and also your mother), you prefer to explore the world on bare feet.

I sigh as I squeeze you tighter and press my face against your chubby belly, this time with a little more intensity, fueled by bittersweet knowing.

Calluses.

They’re inevitable, of course, and a silly thing to feel sad about. But as you look at me, your eyes shining with youthful innocence and pure beauty, I sigh again. And this time, it’s not for your feet, but for your heart.

And I say a silent prayer. For wisdom and light sufficient to counter the hardness of this world.

For neverending openness and wonder.

For a heart uncallused.

Tranquility

I breathe in deeply and exhale slowly.
A long day, a productive one. I am thankful it lies behind me.
The full moon is bright, the night around me feels illuminated by an otherworldly blacklight.
Beautiful.

I listen to the sound of crickets surrounding me. It warms my heart. It’s the first time this year I’ve heard them. Their symphony is a far cry from the deafening crescendo it will be on summer evenings, but they’re back.
Welcome.

A turtle slips into the water with a splash. A lone frog croaks. He, too, will soon meld into a choir of almost obscene proportions.
I’ve missed your song.

Next to me, I notice movement. Out of the dark, two glowing eyes peer directly into mine. It’s the half-feral tortoiseshell cat. Her gaze is not threatening, yet not timid either. Tranquil.
Her satin nose kisses my foot as she walks past me.
Unprecedented.

A distant bolt of lightning explodes across the southern sky. Another sign of winter’s end, one I’ve always cherished deeply. Why is it that the destructive power of a strong storm has always comforted my soul so deeply?
I’ve missed your embrace.

unpleasant

I've never been good
at sitting with
unpleasant feelings

feeling the icky
the yucky
the awkward
the hard

and so today
when I want so badly to run
I'm sitting here
and feeling this moment

all of it.

rainy day

cold wind
dripping rain
the perfect day 
for snuggling in bed with hot tea
my loves surrounding me

and I will 
but not now

now
it’s time to 
pull my sweater around my face
and brave the
beautiful rain