Rumi said to treat each morning like a new arrival to ourselves as if we are a guest house. A day may bring darkness that sweeps us of our furniture and destroys parts but doing so makes room for another guest. Another morning.
I wonder if we treated this life like a Meow Wolf exhibit imbued with fervent curiosity, would that work just as well? Here wonders expand us and allow our minds to be at once separate yet converging on a moment of experience.
You are here.
I will die.
We are here.
We will cry.
Not denying the fear of death/misfortune/endings but not avoiding either. Enthusiasm and curiosity, a drive to see and touch and feel the bright colors drives forward. It all compels you too. Forward from room to room. Open the sky.
Treat each moment like an experience that has a place and allow it to expand us, to be curious about it. Where does regret live in my body? Does it have weight or zip? Tendrils or a forcefield? How does it vibrate my body to bits or shake me to feel how my edges do hold.
What color is the mourning of our love?
What refraction is its waking?
How do I walk while holding your hand in my pocket and feel my own rhythm on a journey where you are beside me always?
I never let go, not really.
Your sweat is in my palm, your print is on my finger.
Yet when I cut myself, I feel the beat of my drumbeat heart. My pain's thudding rhythm.
I'm right here, even when you're there in another room, just through those plastic gray industrial refrigerator flaps. It's not another world. We're together. We're a convergence of different and same, waking up on a Monday morning.
Comments
Post a Comment