Elephant in the Room

dawn
just outside
of possession
at the edge
of air

A cardinal surveys the landscape atop his white picket throne while steam and dove coos rise into morning light. A new day is introduced yet I am sitting under a tomb of yesterday's broken concrete. From shadows of shame, I try to look outward at anything – anything other than the abyss of my own making. A sheer sky; wind chimes hanging, ready to sing, the imprecise language of landscape. So many beautiful projections. Can I not be one of them?

No matter how much energy I spend making myself smaller, I am the elephant in the room. I lumber. I am chained to my own body, performing circus tricks for the masses. If I am mind only, the body suffers. If I am body only, the mind loses too much light. It cannot see the very next step forward on the trail.

Once upon a time, there was a way to bring mind and body together in my story. There was a fork in the trail; a bluff overlooking a river; a jumping off point. Maybe that is the problem – I saw the way, but it appeared as a choice – jump or do not jump. Had I allowed what is choice-less, I would have simply fallen.

Muesli in Greek yogurt and steel cut oats. The dog and I walk before work, neither one of us expecting this degree of chill. My eyes involuntarily water but honestly, it might as well be from grief. There is a death happening; I need to invite him in.