A Week of Poetry

I offered a poem.
He politely declined.
With jade-like humility. 

And so I think I’ll just 
Leave these words here.
In case a poem is the thing
You don’t know you need. 

The glow of space
To hold a new thought.
A house for words, a house for play.
A poem is the little lark that bravely sings the day.

***

Pink blanket in the center lane.
Temperatures in the low thirties.
How cold were they to not feel it fall?
How far did they walk before they realized.
The one thing they owned was strewn in the middle of 5 lanes?

What can I do for the human I only see the remnant of?
The body this blanket sheltered has moved on.
And with luck to a real shelter.
No one needs a blanket in a shelter. 

Pink blanket in the center lane.
A call to take the stacks of blankets out of the cabinet.
And hand them out on frozen mornings.
For the one who can’t feel it’s warmth.

***

In a class today we talked of silence. 
The precious space of sabbath.
We talked of chords and phones and tethering things.
That pull us from Peace. 

The Peace that is more the understanding.
Beyond, past Understanding.
Greater than.
Knowing.

We must be fierce.
With intention to notice, to see and to listen.
Fierce to protect ourselves and
The chapel that is our life.

***

Was it three minutes?
Or was it ten?
Just a portal on social media.
It was ten.
Ten minutes I might have been meditating.
Making oatmeal.
Only 50% of the humans in the house eat oatmeal. 

Now it’s twelve minutes and I’m still here. Loving you.

***

To the person on any Southwest Flight who finds my Texas Driver’s License:
It was a short relationship. The renewed card arrived and was put to use and lost before the Old One Expired.
So easy to get lost in the Story of Lost Things: The Great Distractor. 

Do mindful people lose less? Or do they lose more, less concerned with keeping track. 
Do mindful people track less because they have less?
Minimalists Lose Less. 

I am not a Minimalist. Three weeks ago it was my Favorite Turquoise Ring by Leo Feeney. I try to break my cycle of fret: stepping back to that day: the trunk to the dresser and now: no where. 

There’s not enough Mindfulness to bring it back. Let it go: like the sands of a Tibetan Mandala. 

But to the person who finds my Texas Driver’s License: feel free to mail it on back to Texas. I’m counting on the kindness of You, Stranger. In this bountiful world of common humanity I hope you will.

***

I brought my mood to the office today.
Bundled neatly. I worked on it overnight and on the drive up. Layers of worry about last week and next week.
Nothing present but a lack of presence. 

I didn’t know how large the parcel got. 
I even tied it with a bow.
Walked in to my office and within a matter of minutes I unpacked it. Handed some to one and then another.
We sat in the hot tub of my mood.
Felt good for a minute and then it didn’t. 

The breakthrough is knowing I choose the content of my knapsack of emotions.
I choose how I show up to my devoted, loving colleagues.
I choose the moment of mindfulness to recognize.
And grow.
To carry less to care more.
That’s what being a friend is for.