That Last Sip

The Pain overtakes everything. Sure, meditation; let it go; don't suffer; stretching; Advil; ginger tea; cannabis; CBD; walking; sleep; so much sleeping. This unmovable thorn. These impossible days. How many times must one start over in order to live? The answer lies in an infinite strip folded upon itself forever.

Cardinals begin to winter in the bush outside the kitchen window. Yes, thank you for that. More light comes through the living room this fall after the trees were taken. Prisms throw rainbows in remembrance.

It took a long time to realize our connection means more than words or bodies. I had too many unmet needs; too much loneliness in my skin. But recently, I sat straight-backed against my towering pine. My bare feet nested in softened needles and black dirt as the last of the yellow leaves let go. The slanted sun on my face, pine at my back, dirt under my heels all culminated energetically to tip the chalice a little higher for that last sip.

I had become a turtle carrying my house on my back – slow and weighed down by attaching too much to imagined happiness.

We may have held our conflict as a war as opposed to a musical duet. There was order in our chaos – a pattern of governed by hidden laws. There were countless chances to smash old forms in order to reveal something new built from the shards.

My body, these relationships, the world around us – the stress we swim in can more deeply reveal ourselves and this revelation must certainly be central to creative change.