Happen regularly
In this empty cell
Prior to consciousness
Often involving
Seeking
Bargains or comfort
With children
“May you be safer than I,
if I can manage it.”
With myself
“May I be absolved
by my daily duties,
keeping the surfaces clean.”
With a God
As I drift
“May you grant
peace or grace,
because
complete belief
is one infraction
I cannot commit.”
Somewhere between striving and desire
There I sit
Or stand
Or flip
Or dance
There is no life without passion
I don’t care what Jesus, or Buddha, or the Pope dictates.
I am devoted to living my life
On that tightrope, in the sweet spot
Balancing and slightly sinking
Between chaos and structure
There you will find me
Waving my arms just enough
Controlling my quivering guts
Slightly pedaling back and forth
Full of fear, and lust, and life!
There is no other choice now
I am committed…
…until the law of gravity prevails. 
Oh the usual mundane decorations
A desk, a chair, a writing tablet
Dust, papers, and a ticking clock
Me…a particle, empty pulp, and passing
I have insisted that it travel with me
Snapshots of captured moments cry out
Piles of tasks wait for attention
Shelves of guidebooks whisper
A charm of luck tipped on its side
An elephant with beads too heavy
A silent box of stained cherry
That grinds of masquerades when opened
A stolen emblem from my first taste of freedom
One of the few parts left untouched in the wreckage
The smooth lime radio that must warm up to be heard
It crackles, hums, and echoes
The images that remind of me
Have no faces
I have never noticed that before
Father, brother, husband, daughter…they all have faces
A memory, a reminder, a revelation
Books on healing, awakening, and death
A stapler and its nemesis on different shelves
Permanent and dry erase markers dangerously commingle
How long has that drawer been open?
Cat Litter Increases Risk of Anger, Depression, and Suicide
Frozen ash brown rabbit on emaciated legs
A single strand of web
Angled from tree to porch
Holding a lone drop glistening
Like the eyes of that still wild thing
It crosses between us
In the night, a mythic force field preserving courage
My husband lied about the fallen baby birds
Until I found their mother the next day
fallen
thrown
jumped
Onto the concrete below
Very near where her babies landed with necks askew
Is it possible to understand a rabbit, a web, a mother bird?
I imagine that I can…
I was dancing all day,
So I could not write,
Perhaps if I’m lucky,
I will have time tonight.
My body exhausted,
My mind is a blank,
My fun all used up,
And my dance shoes quite rank!
My mind screams and whines, not unlike my 6 year old.
The tantrum may not be visible to others, but it is just as loud in my head,
And just as persuasive.
“I don’t want to be still!”
“You can’t make me!”
Pay attention to the storm or suffer the consequences.
But just like my child,
If I wait long enough my will releases, and submission arrives with a sigh.
So now what?
What am I feeling?
It feels like a tummy ache that travels into my throat.
It feels like a hunger pang, frantic and unnerving.
“Something must be done.
Or I will wither away!”
When nothing is done, except for the feeling of it,
It morphs into magnetic trembling in my chest.
Pulling me towards something, anything,
To feed this NOT-WANTING-TO.
I choose not to feed it for half an hour
In the end neither the not-wanting-to nor I have died.
Rhythmic creaking door
In this darkened silent space
Is the room breathing with us
Are we all secretly attempting to get out
Even while we appear sure as statues
Is the world out there trying to get in
Futile as it seeps in through the open window
In the sudden sounds, with the tempting smells, as the dancing shadows, on the stirring breeze
mingling with our attention, our senses, our thoughts, and our breath
I did not intend to meditate today…
…it settled over me as I lay floating in the tub.
A day of writing and mothering…
…the bath was meant to be a practical punctuation.
I breathe and float and let go of the day…
…it becomes an important point of reference, an endnote.
The water is warm and mostly enveloping…
…my exposed skin is goose bumped from the cool air.
I am comfortable with both temperatures…
…equanimity where before there would have been aversion.
My hands float just below the surface…
…until I will them to rise and rest on my abdomen.
My stomach is stable, unwavering…
…strength where there once would have been jelly like cowardice.
After a time of breathing and feeling…
…my mind returns and has something important to reveal.
My practice is finally my own.
It feels as much mine now as my body finally feels to me.
I am not mimicking another’s practice or following their dogmatic instructions.
I am floating in my own meditation.
Created at last, with the words that pour out of me each day.
A smile, an exhalation, and a tear are added to the subtle waves around me.
Look at me
Read my words
Fold me up
Place me
In your back pocket
Or your shirt
Closer
To your vital organs
Or crumple me
Throw me
In the trash bin
Either way
I will still be here
Giving you words
Of (dis)comfort, strength
Waiting for you
To notice
Something valuable
To you
From me
sometimesihatemycat 