Metaphor

The river...

how did I not know,

not know... 

not to fight against it,

the current,

the density of me,

the weight,

the lack of control,

born in the kid days,

of summer...

not wanting 

to know how

to float, 

to flow, 

to go with the ride... 

instead of direct it,

to breathe...

instead of gasp,

to inflate...

instead of deflate,

to float... 

instead of fight.

To find this peace,

in the hushed rush 

of mute water,

the quieting

that released me,

let me be...

ten again,

with this

step off the edge,

off the edge, 

of control...

to discover

the only way to fly

is called 

swimming.

Swimming Lessons

Look, I want to love this world as though its the last chance I'm ever going 

to be alive and I know it! 

Mary Oliver

What to do with a day when you wake up 

and don't want to?

when your first thoughts are about the 

thing you lost... 

or are near to losing, all that you will 

inevitably struggle with today

And your second thought? Is the 

usual uncomfortable "I hate my life."

And the only thing that launches you 

from your bed

into the too bright of day are the cats, 

thought to be the perfect pets

for their independent reputation and 

are now the reflection of your own 

extreme neediness

and all three (yes three) 

take turns incessantly licking 

any exposed body part. Ugh!

Then comes the mental litany of all 

the things you wish were different, 

the multitude of poor choices that turned 

into mistakes, 

that changed everything in a single 

irreversible flash.

Wanting someone, anyone to save you, 

but with no life raft in sight...

and an inability to swim or keep 

your head up...

Recognizing this is the swimming lessons 

for your soul?

So what will you do next?

First you will pray to God or angels 

or anyone's spirit 

you believe in for your ability to breathe,

then you will exercise to music and drop 

the one sided 

"without conclusion" conversations with "them."

Then seek out impossible beauty and witness 

nothing but maybe 

the ground you are standing on

the grains of pebbles or sheaths of grass 

poking thru your shiney healthy toes.

In my case, it is the endless outstretch 

of desert, 

that to the poet is not just lifeless brown 

but an array of shades in sienna 

and burnt umber,

the wild and beautiful, with unseen life

happening. 

And maybe that is all that matters for now 

(that and the happy well exercised 

angel of a dog 

sitting beside me who likes swimming 

less than I do!)

So this is THIS minute

the next...determinded by the mental discipline 

to continue to stand, to continue to breathe 

and to pray, to move thru the minutes

believing this "too shall pass" 

and surrender to the many 

things of grace occurring 

even if its in the disguise of 

"licking cats."