I need to rest
and I need to be awake.
I need to write
but my words are coming slow.
It’s Too Much
and it’s Never Enough.
This is a Terrifyingly Hard and Beautiful Life
and it only makes sense about one third of the time.
In the mornings,
after the long nights of Not Enough Sleep,
what eventually propels me from the lying prone position in my bed
to the feet sliding over the side,
hit the floor,
is not hope
Not prospect of good
and The Only Next Thing To Do.
And if my heart feels a little tender and bruised,
it’s just because it is coming back to life.
It’s just because it has been in solitary confinement.
It’s not so much about What I Want
as it is about What I Cannot Have
in the words of Mr. Wendell Berry,
“it’s not right, but it’s alright”.
The sun shining the next day always helps.
Being outdoors is better than being indoors.
One always feels less desperate beside a tree.
Less lonely in the woods.
Less hopeless when the sun is warming your bare skin.
bring good news.
Reinvent and revive me.
Restore me and collect the bits of me floating away and apart.