mymadmission

My Mad Mission

Though you may tremble with self-doubt

Know

that the clarity

fearlessness

and authentic joy

were real

they are yours

and you must never turn back

on the heart that led you here

poetry
09.24.140 NOTES Reblog

Imagine you are somewhere where you are enough.

Think of a place. Maybe there is a healer there. They have a simple hut. They apply salves to your heart-wounds.

The people there know that you have done your best. You lay down next to a campfire and fall asleep to the unhurried murmurs of campfire talk.

You can stay as long as you need to. You are home. You are enough.

poetry
09.24.140 NOTES Reblog

Rest. Lay your head down. Breathe gently. Imagine Jesus, or Buddha, or your grandmother, or your favourite teacher is sitting next to you. They smile gently. They say: I am here for you. You can rest now. They gently stroke your forehead, and hold your hand in theirs. They want you to know: it’s okay. Breathe. Rest. They are solid, like a mountain. They will stay as long as it takes.

Breathe, dear.

am I doing it right?

I wonder

what should I do?

the dog invites me to come outside

and sit in the tree-circle

we don’t do anything

as far as I can tell

but the questions stop

they just

stop

poetry
09.24.140 NOTES Reblog

Today I made believe I was a monk

I lit the candles

invited the bell to sound

stepped so carefully

slowly

until I couldn’t say

whether I was or I wasn’t

My house was a temple

blessing

may our home be happy

may love grow there

may it be a nest, a holy place

may we be gentle and kind with each other

and always leave a light burning

in our hearts

poetry
09.24.140 NOTES Reblog

Some weeks ago I was putting on my shoes, which had been in the garage over the weekend, and I felt something soft, almost like a balled-up tissue, under my heel in the shoe. I wiggled my foot around in there and even squeezed down a little, as if I just hadn’t got the shoe on right. Then I thought better of it and slipped off the shoe, glancing inside as I pulled the shoe away from my heel. It was a little mouse, not moving, but the sight of it prompted me to go into a kind of involuntary panic and I threw the shoe down and threw myself in the other direction onto the floor and shuddered. Then I realized I must have squished it and, struck with an immediate kind of remorse, I picked up the shoe again to see if the mouse could, possibly, be okay. He (I don’t know if it was a he or a she) looked just as if he’d fallen asleep, he didn’t look squished, except that now he began to shudder and I saw that this was probably a death-shudder and I started walking outside with the shoe, thinking that maybe if I left the shoe outside awhile I’d come home later and find the mouse gone, meaning he’d recovered from the nasty shock of being squished and run away. I put him down, still inside the shoe, near the compost and I started to cry. And I cried, the whole way to work with my mom in the car, and sometime after I dropped her off, and later in the afternoon, and later in the evening, when I thought of it and the memory of the balled-up Kleenex feeling under my foot came to mind. It was so intimate somehow, how I’d killed him. It was so clearly my fault and also so clearly not at all a matter of fault. Only an accident. I went back to the shoe when I returned in the evening and he was still there, stiff and dead. I buried him in a shallow grave further back, where the woods started, and I apologized for squishing him and wished him well as best I could through my tears.

and you may come to me in my dreams

and hold my hand

because i missed you there,

darling

and i will turn to you in my sleep

and rest my cheek against yours

and i will know that i am not crooked

but maybe

even

singularly beautiful.

I wondered

if the world was just more alive, then.

I let myself be still

and I cried through my meditation

- cried through breakfast.

I sat in the backyard, in the tree-circle,

and

then

I heard it, the humming,

and I felt it, as if it was seeping into my skin

- no less alive,

or,

only as alive as I let myself be.

I can just make out your lips

and my love goes leaping up

but there’s nowhere for it

I see now

that I have a home

and this time it will be with relief

that I go into your arms

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