Be with it.
Alllll of it.
Like a full-body experience.
Let yourself be fed and watered and weeded by other loving hands.
Where are they? You might ask.
Waiting for your invitation,
Your open-hearted quiet request:
Any way you can make me dinner this week?
Rub lotion on my hands or feet?
Take me to that silly movie?
Talk less. And even less.
And even less.
(And even less).
Gather the goods for a divine and righteous cry:
A journal to jot down all you desire.
A mix that reminds you of all you miss.
The letter or picture that leaves the greatest pang.
The shirt, the present, the essence of the missing presence.
Indulge in your tears for longer than you’d like.
Watch your body release
the pent up disease
For longer than you think you need.
Graze, bare feet in the grass.
Gaze, a soft glance out the window.
Gather the moment.
Name what you see in soft whispers to yourself…
Tiny slivers of shingle shadows and a bird feeder that’s one-third full.
Undone electrical wires dangling from Mark & Meryl’s roof.
A frenzying fly, wishing the window weren’t so.
Weeds breaking through the blacktop in crooked rows.
Go to bed by 10pm. Really. No excuses.
Wake up when your body is ready.
Really. No excuses.
And if you feel a nap coming on, by all means, let it.
Step. Step. Step. Step.
What gives me energy and power these days?
What drains me like a wide open sink?
Make your lists.
Feed your power.
Fuck the rest.
You need to, you do.
Because even when the rug gets pulled out from under you,
You still have yourself, if nothing else… if nothing else.
Find your strength.
Live in it.
Not for the sake of appearance.
(It can look tired.
It can look tasseled.)
But because you still have it.
And there are times… times like these
for really feeling it.