I wish I could write poetry backwards, especially so that each word could pull me
intimately closer. Into the place from which all words spring.
* * *
One way I could belong to everything is by touching my undying need to be erased.
* * *
Our disappearance is the crystal clear seeing of reality.
* * *
We don’t need to call it dying, for that would be to dramatize something so
light to the touch, that the landing of a feather in comparison would be too much.
* * *
I’d like to include every discomfort in this sinking, everything I think is in the way.
* * *
At the end of the day are not all resistances just an attempt not to
feel and the rest of our lives a hunt after a fleeting feeling?
* * *
So let me learn to withstand the fire of that burning feeling.
* * *
Let my willfulness that thinks it could withstand, turn into ordinary willingness.
An acceptance gifted us by life, in the face of the coveted fire in which we already stand.
* * *
Let my days be a simple celebration of the fact that I can feel. Not what or how.
* * *
Let my praising rise as a result of being that open.
No, not just in the openness of spirit but in every living edge of my humanity.
* * *
Let me say yes to each “No” that lies hidden at the fringes of this body.
Let me say “No” with every given “No”, and let that too be a yes.
