Ooof, to the muddle
that is January
in particular, late January
to a world gone mad, and thanks in part
to our modern convenience of
“connection”
bewildering to find, that people you know
have indeed
gone
with
it
oblivious to the horrific-ness of what has been
witnessed
instead choosing
delusion
where I suppose, if it is not directly affecting them
can be somehow
rationalized
bizarre…
“How was it possible that men, women, and children were being burned and that the world kept silent?”
~ Elie Wiesel
yesterday morning internally
filled to the brim
with a pulsing anxiousness
that feels like an agitated ant colony on
the move
I tap in to most all things in my
loving kindness toolkit
to get me through my day
I have also of late been considering,
or is it
re-
considering
the art of curating a romance
with
oneself
by way of
the creative life
of writing or
not
writing
the, who should even care
of it all
versions I suppose of
who do you even think you are
and all manner of weaker partners to
imposter syndrome
where I can promise you, this is not
a fishing exercise for compliment
rather,
an emptying of one’s
head
of
nonsense
anxieties of the over thinker
thing is, we are exposed to so very much these days
all hail ego
greed, dominance, bravado
conquer, search and
destroy
and on the constant
where fear and outrage are over-programmed as
automatic response
how then can one not turn instead to
creative things
like art, books, music, to reading and to
writing
to drawing one’s gaze to
beautiful things, made by hand
by
hands
by nature, by some kind of divine
intention
how can we not regularly look
to the light
where it falls
what it touches, and how it
illuminates
engaging our hearts
in tender things
carrying
the cries
of
all
outside today, bitter cold air
bits of snow float down from the spruce tree
catching the light
in
glittering showers
a bird flies past the window
that’s been filled with a flood of
bright sunlight
a quick flash, a silhouette
of wings in
flight
perhaps reminding me
of my own
in humble response ♥