Empath

My nervous system hurts.
Everything is painful, but the pain isn't sharp or precise.
Every thought feels like an emotion.

There was no quiet time today,
or meditative movement,
or time to sit for a moment with my coffee or my dog.
Many events are transpiring at once, in the lives of so many who physically
touched me today, or I touched them, or sat near them.
If I sit next to someone and I am not centered in myself,
I can't decipher the trail of what I feel and I can get lost.
In those moments I need to go somewhere by myself for a little bit,
but I usually can't.

It can feel overwhelming.
My heart will sometimes hurt or race or all of a
sudden I feel like banging my head against a wall
or sobbing
and I don't know why.
Anything I try to think about is clouded by intense emotion,
like my mind is being washed away by an immense tidal wave.
By this time it is too late.

I know it is a storm and will pass
and it is better after sleep,
but whatever needs accomplished before bedtime
is excruciatingly difficult.
I sometimes have to say to my spouse,
"I am sorry. I am not functional right now."
Yoga, running, walking in nature, meditation...
these are not hobbies for me.
I need these things to function.
My life depends on these outlets.
How grateful I am when these days end,
and the aching confusion with them.

Faux pearls

Like Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar,

What if we had to tell the truth,

every time we wrote,

instead of every time we spoke? 

Too many boasts 

in our Facebook posts,

flipped on their head,

just might make us turn red.

Trying some honesty on for size,

rather than flattering little white lies,

would look a little like this,

for me.

What happened:

Made myself run three miles without walking,

dried my sweat with a kitchen towel,

then ate a plate of seven-layer dip.

What I wrote:

Feeling awesome after my five mile run! 

What happened:

Woke up at 4:00 a.m. and tossed and turned for three hours,

mulling over inanities.

What I wrote:

Woke up to meditate during the amrit vela. Set a beautiful tone for the day! 

What happened:

Sat in church and tried to ignore the crayons my kids kept dropping under the pews,

holding my breath as they punched each other,

looking at the floor or bowing my head in false piety when congregants stared.

Studied everyone's slumped shoulders during the sermon, picking up about half of the message.

What I wrote:

So inspired after service today! Feeling bolstered by spiritual community! 

We need to embellish and rework our experience,

pulling the pearls from the oyster shells of the mundane,

holding our stories up to the light and clearing off the smudge.

It's up to us to create our own narratives, and tell them to ourselves.

How true they are isn't all that important,

unless it's a medical emergency. 

Then it should be factual. 

Brutal honesty with ourselves and others is often neither pleasant nor all that useful. 

Sitting

As the eyes close,

and the breath slows,

tick, tick, tick,

goes the sound of the watch

on the wrist,

as the hand

props up the head.

Shift. 

Sit up straight.

Rest the hands

in the lap.

Legs are crossed,

feet tucked under,

snug and safe.

Breathing in, 

the chest lifts,

breathing out,

the shoulders drop. 

Fidget.

Fingertips moving up,

touching the shoulders,

fingernails graze the skin. 

Breathing in,

drop the hands,

breathing out,

resettle. 

Across the eyelids,

flashes of green,

speckles of yellow,

a black cube 

with a white outline. 

Breathing in,

white light,

breathing out,

black smoke. 

Sounds from the house,

sounds from outside,

engines humming in the distance,

as the washer spins.

Noticing.

Sensations,

warmth in the chest,

itchy eyes,

slight tension in the lips.

Breathing in,

comfort,

breathing out,

malaise. 

Staying.

Abiding.

Breathing in,

time passes,

Breathing out,

someone else knows,

maybe the watch.

Breathing in,

stillness,

Breathing out,

stillness.

Remembering.

Heels and ankles,

hips and thighs. 

Breathing in,

adjust,

breathing out,

resettle.

Attachment. 

Please just stay here. 

A beeping sound.

The breath deepens.

Eyes open.

Feet lower,

touching the floor,

arms stretch overhead.

Stand up,

and walk. 

Litha

Soft, graceful, radiant mother,

returning to us with abundant light.

Firm, warm and moist earth,

yielding glittering gems of flowers.

Your children delight even in the humblest of weeds,
clover, and bright golden buttercups,

wild strawberries and honeysuckle.

Intoxicating scents float on the air,

your breath, 

reviving us from our

melancholy torpor. 

Walking in the morning,

I sense your presence around me,

my feet against the ground,

my eyes to the horizon,

my ears attuned to the songs

of the cardinal, goldfinch,

and mockingbird, 

to the rhythm of the woodpeckers

rapping against the pines.

I feel I can tell you anything,

like a close sister, an indulgent,

sweet mother, you are.

The warmth of the golden sun

is your embrace,

the breeze,

your hair, brushing my cheek.

Lest I forget you,

the many creatures who greet me

come to remind me,

of your delicate, vibrant splendor. 

Shimmery green spiders 

with silver backs and orange bellies,

butterflies of every color,

snails and tiny grasshoppers.

Fireflies,

and preying mantises,

will make their entrance soon,

when we will sit outside at dusk 

and watch the bats fly in circles. 

The rocks and feathers 

my family collects,

reminders of you to put inside,

but outside is where we greet you,

learning from you as you teach us

death and rebirth,

growth and renewal,

opening to the sun

and rising up with the moon,

our Mother.

Time in a Bottle

From a furnished apartment,

in a dreary London neighborhood,

completely solitary at 29,

3 days after 9/11,

longing for some kind of purpose,

I could not imagine

a day with feathery

and watercolor clouds,

dotting a bright blue sky,

the Olympics theme song

playing in the background,

surrounded by a group 

of 20 children,

their parents and guardians,

some people who guard me 

and some people I guard,

and an ensuing 180 minutes

of facilitating glee,

and thinking,

If I could stop time now,

would I do it? 

This is what I truly dreamed of

when I was a kid,

more so than the things I dreamed about

when I was 22, or 25, and wanted to be

important, 

somehow. 

When you feel like this,

then you know,

it's now, not earlier, not later,

not a goal, or an end.

You don't know about

enlightenment,

or nirvana,

or samadhi,

or anything so lofty. 

You know about happiness,

and realize it's momentary. 

How Much

How much do we really need

to say,

to do,

to have,

to be? 

How many words does it take

to convey a pure emotion,

to describe a vivid picture,

to convince a neutral witness?

I love to hear you talk, 

mostly just for the sound. 

It's enough to say only a few words,

or none,

if you talk to me some other way. 

How many actions does it take

to serve and preserve this world

and its people, plants and animals?

How many actions are unneeded,

and even harmful?

But no action is wasted. 

Everything goes into the soup.

How many things do we need

to fill us up,

to help us work,

to help us play,

to exchange with each other?

Sometimes I want to hold a thing in my hand,

or wear it, 

or use it,

just to feel it, 

or for how it makes me feel. 

But I want to move about unencumbered.

How many roles do we need to play

to make the plot work,

to form a full cast,

to feel like 

we really exist,

and people see us,

and we belong?

What are we doing,

when we are being,

and is it enough? 

If yes, then yes.

If no, then keep doing what you're doing.

If yes and no,

keep asking yourself,

and see for yourself 

how much is enough.

We can say and do and have and be so much 

to one another

that it's always enough.

It feels like enough, now. 

Constancy

Now is the time,
this is the moment,
when the commitment continues.
The feeling is relief, gratitude,
resolve.

The flow of life moves around,
under,
over and through me,
and everything.
From the first waking moment,
to the time I can sit here,
saying to myself,
now is the time,
I am carried along by rapids,
bumping up against rocks,
debris,
yielding with soft limbs of trees.

There is always a hope within me,
a belief that I can come back here,
and reenter this consistency.
This place within me sits and waits,
until I fall back in again,
but there is no impatience,
no struggle,
no agitation.

Constancy.

When we put the test out there,
on the table,
reality comes in to complete the whole paper,
inviting us to see and know,
why we commit,
how much we need
consistent, constant,
free and flowing,
soft and yielding,
shining,
unbreakable refuge.