Shall I wake some day
from this surreal dream
only to find
that is where my
sweet life lies?
Do you search
in the still of the night
when memories moth-drawn
cling to fire lit sparks
Do you lay
in faces that pass
from mirrored creations
What has become
of the give away gift
turned over to fate
gone from grieving decisions
Is she there
feeling my midnight ache
dark slice alone
when you could have been mine
It seems I’ve spent years
peering around my own
for the right one
chasing the disguised
into cities of my own making
burned out places
trying to grow free
the tap tap
on stone cracked pavement
lead me farther into
It seems a matrix
endless labyrinth of curling walls
wet with the salt of sweat
as I run
Some days, try as you might, that old sense of weariness seeps in and takes ahold. Maybe all the fighting to keep the dark at bay and to work really hard at life believing in all that’s possible, can sometimes simply be draining. It feels best to hide away and try not to think too much during these times.
Nights are restless and days achy. But still we push our way through routine because it feels normal. And then tuck back to the shelter of a quiet hide away–where no-one can ask too much of us.
It’s not the goal of life to feel this way. No. Like a pestering family member who keeps visiting without being invited, but an obligation to let them in. They are family after all, kin, and a part of your life.
So you tolerate the annoyance, this mood. It will pass eventually and leave. And hopefully, like the relative, it will leave eventually, and with it a feeling of relief and hopefully a great gaping peace in its wake.
There is beauty in a rainy day. As the water pours down, soaking the earth and providing the plants with a drink, it can feel luscious to sit indoors listening to the purifying sounds. In a place where rain and storms can be scarce, a full day of heavy showers feels like a gift. The natural cascading cadence coming from the sky easily acts as a lullaby–rocking the unsuspecting book worm to sleep. Curled up under a blanket, the white noise soothes the brain. Soon the eyes will close and the body drifts off to another realm as the drum of the raindrops beat on.
It is a natural cycle, the sun and rain, the play and rest. The softer mood and grayer colors paint these moments. It’s slow and inward.
Use it. Lean into it. Even indoors let the rainy days baptize and renew the soul.
They would take the time to play more
They would spend less time gossiping and more time listening
When they were afraid, they would just go hide for a bit instead of becoming bullies
They would take lots of naps so they would always be well rested and not stressed out all the time
They would love other species like family
They would smile more
They’d be OK with their bodies
They would learn to wait patiently and to trust
And to forgive and forget
They would learn to love those different from themselves
And that love is unconditional
That you just walk away, rather than fight if you get angry
And that territories are defined by sniffs and pee not walls or bombs
That most of us aren’t purebred anyway, but we are just as wonderful
That everyone just wants a home
That we should save our voice only for the important things
If when we were frustrated, we took it out on our own stuff, not other’s….
That tongues are not for lashing, but for kisses and we are each unique in our own crazy way
And if our lives were as short and precious as theirs, maybe, just maybe we would live more fully, play harder, rest more deeply, love more expansively, trust more easily, be careful not to destroy stuff and even share all we had…. For they are gone so quickly, but leave with us lessons that we carry forever.
So they will continue to play
And we will continue to struggle
But maybe one day we’ll tip our head close enough to theirs so we can really listen to what they’ve been trying to tell us all along.