It’s bad enough when awareness comes
in a look or a wondering
with space to soften and say farewell
to what I thought was real.
But when I’m up to 97, 98, 99, 100 in Double Dutch
and the blunt end
raps my knuckles,
stuns my body,
and double pink plastic snaps my cheek
stings my bare ankle,
all I want to do is run away and
shove myself
into the back of the bottom drawer,
hide myself
in the company of mismatched socks
and stifle
the desire to shoot the messenger–
shoot them, again and again
until
my breathing slows down,
and I picture their warm smile,
their kind eyes
and scold myself for being so dramatic.
Eventually,
I call up the courage to uncrumple the note,
coach myself to read
their words
in their voice
from their hurt
and, there it is–
a wisp of armistice.
When will this violent game
of in/out,
pass/fail,
kill or be killed
ever stop?
Why does one of us have to be hated?
I go for a walk and thank
the dear friend out there
who honoured themselves and awakened me
and the dear friend within
who panics and desires to be honoured and awakened.
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning is a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all.
–-Rumi, The Guest House
An Everyday Pilgrim 