Wading Through (again)
I will not censor part of me,
Which begs to be expressed,
Because it shatters the illusion,
And reveals the human mess.
There is no way around it,
Only the wading through,
Up to my neck in all of it,
Is all I know to do.
Perhaps I’ll sit a moment,
Just be with the stink and then,
Investigate bacteria,
‘Till I get up and move again.
I see all of you around me,
Also trying to make sense,
I can’t look away and decorate,
Or try to cover up the stench.
I do not mind the stopping still,
To have a look around,
Being with the shit that bubbles up,
Is the only way I’ve found.
To engage this life and all of it,
As it presents itself to me,
I’ll just use it as fertilizer,
Composting crap creatively.
–A.R.
Woman at Mud Volcano 2 by Natasha Prosenc
Because sometimes people wonder why I write about “certain things” that perhaps they think should stay private. My answer, because it happened, because it comes up, because it is part of life, because staying silent about any of it simply causes isolation. Isolation for myself and for others who have a similar experience. I have been silent at the wrong times, about the wrong things, for too long. Silence for me will stay “on the cushion” and that is it.
sometimesihatemycat 
I understand precisely; this is why you named your blog as is?
Yes, that is right. Ugly things come up sometimes. No point staying silent about them…unless I am on the cushion. It is indeed funny that all this silent sitting has helped me regain my voice off the cushion. Ironic isn’t it?
it shows that the cushion is working – the courage to face yourself again and again; I salute you, sister
I am not even sure how to say thank to such wonderful encouragement, but thank you. Grateful nod and salute right back at ya.