not enough
then
suddenly
too much!
something missing
what?
a yearning
for sweetness,
release
from discipline,
a tipping point
of sorts,
can no longer run
or hide
sadness
disappointment
fear?
of what?
barely space
between internal stimulus
and its well-trodden response.
a mere taste
then
suddenly
the deluuge,
surrendering to the waterfall.
a deep
familiar
insatiable
hunger
for sweetness
presence
purpose
excitement
reasons
any
to be
here
now.
innately worthy,
The Source,
from which we all
spring.
when do we forget
what we really are
and spiral
down
deep into The Abyss
of not enough
and the sense of
unworthiness?
grateful for those moments
in exquisite remembrance,
a glimpse,
swirls of pale pinks & greys,
the Curiousity of Creativity
condensing into form,
the fetus,
planted in a womb.
Suddenly,
left eye
redness,
pain,
intense light sensitivity.
oh no, uveitis, again?
so soon?
sadness born of
a knowingness.
“I did this.”
relentlessly
disrespectfully
pushed and pushed,
ignored Body’s
implore
to stop,
subtract.
Then the dream
set in another time –
childhood.
garbage overflowing,
unattended
and yet,
still present.
a father
feeding a mother,
their daughter
holding space
for others.
The next day,
head slammed
into metal.
where?
right above
the healing
left eye!
did the brain move?
was some semblance
of sense knocked into
the head, a subtle
and much-needed,
shifting of consciousness?
A few days later:
morning, bore witness
to a wake of vultures
tearing into flesh.
evening, a searing ache
in the middle of the head,
eyes burning,
bedridden.
relief, only from
sleep –
stop,
subtract.
I forget –
often –
just how much I am privileged
and blessed,
allowing The Darkness to rise
and My Light to then subside.
Ironically,
gratitude never ceases,
it remains steadfast,
knowing this resurrected Shadow shall too pass.
Surrendering,
I will remember:
we fall down,
become lost,
and are –
eventually –
re-found.
Letting go,
I slowly begin to dissolve
that desperate,
terribly frightened façade.
Breathing deeply
and in-tentionally,
re-leasing lineages of conditioning
and very old stories,
the tight knots
in heart and belly
begin to relax,
they unwind.
I return –
once again –
to some humble
Presence of mind.
i look in the mirror
and feel old–
outdated
faded.
i am looking through the lens of fatigue,
a tired body is ill at ease,
not always accurately does its mind perceive.
pulchritude has never been my currency,
the first thing most people see in me-
that which lent validity.
living in a world that places so much value
on physical appearance,
i mastered the art of dis-appearance–
learning to hide deep inside;
shrink from severe lack of confidence;
stuff the pain with food
in lieu of alcohol or cocaine.
now, I mature,
a process treated with great contempt,
as if it were manure.
the gift of getting older
is that One gets bolder!
You tend to give
less of a fuck
to the ego
and the others
who think you just plain suck.
Ain’t nobody got the time
for that drama and fuss.
burgeoninc 