I love you.
I’m sorry for taking you for granted.
I know you’ve worked really hard
to keep me alive all these years.
I’m sorry for judging you as inadequate.
I love you.
I am so grateful for all of your sensations
and the wonderful way
all of your systems work together
to maintain radiant health.
I love how elegant you are,
how nimble, how graceful.
I love how you breathe,
how you walk,
how you climb and run and dance.
I love how you rest.
forgive me for all those times
I didn’t understand
and blamed you for my illness.
I know you are doing the best you can.
You are brave and noble
and I’m glad you’re mine.
Sorting through years of being together,
so many memories surfacing,
the sentimentality of it all.
When you left,
you took what you wanted
and left the rest,
an apt metaphor for our life together.
Now I’m left to sort through
the aftermath of our togetherness…alone.
Our children’s artwork, books, clothing, and toys,
bits of this and that,
odds and ends accumulated over the years…
You told me I didn’t want to move
because I have so much sh*t
that I just don’t want to deal
with sorting it and packing it up…
You were only partially correct.
For starters…a lot of this is OUR sh*t, sir,
which is what happens when two people
create two children and live together
for eight years.
A part of me doesn’t want to deal with it,
you are right—
but that’s just one part.
That’s the part you knew and criticized,
the one that was never good enough for you.
But I have other parts.
There’s one part who has been
only too glad to purge myself of you,
my body, my mind, my heart, my spirit,
my home…free from you.
There’s another part that is so strong
and so resilient, it has been working diligently
to release, release, release the old
in order to welcome the new.
Another part is really glad for the future
without you in it as my tormentor,
and who looks forward
to (one day when I’m ready)
stepping into the embrace
of a real man,
a man who sees me and loves me
for my power and strength,
my creativity and sensuality,
my generosity and compassion,
my ability to clearly articulate my thoughts and feelings,
my humor and my excitement about life.*
Yet another part is deeply calm and peaceful,
and maybe a little amused at this whole process.
Turns out, sir,
you didn’t know me.
You didn’t know me very much at all.
*Yes, if you had seen and appreciated any of these qualities, our story would have been very different. Your loss, buster. But namaste all the same. 🙏🏻🌈✨
The voice stayed with me
when the clock struck midnight;
it followed me into the new year.
It was quiet for a few hours,
letting me take in the new year…
But now it is saying, already,
You should be doing more.
You need to make phone calls,
you need to organize your house,
you need to earn more,
you need to plan for the future.
You could end up on the street.
You could lose everything.
Hurry up! No time to lose!
Now I want to know,
whose voice is this?
Of course I want to be responsible,
of course I want to take action,
of course I want to do the right thing.
But I don’t need a tyrant telling me what to do.
I don’t need a frightened, abused inmate
pushing me to be afraid too.
I’m ready for a new voice,
one that says,
Breathe. You’re doing just fine.
Let’s try this now.
You are not alone;
I’ll be with you every step of the way.
Everything is working out just fine.
You are safe.
You can trust me.
I got you.
I’m searching for that voice.
I’m wanting to see what my life will be like
when I listen to it and act from it.
May the voice of kindness rise up within me,
and may my ears and heart and mind
be open to receive its wisdom.
You never cared about my words before,
but now, suddenly, you do?
You think you can use them to hurt me?
The joke’s on you.
If you’re going to read them,
you might as well know,
that I will love you always,
although not as before.
You share a bed with another now…
Do her eyes meet yours with equal intensity?
Will she be there for you if you fall?
Does she love your family like I still do?
Will she hold your nieces and nephews
in her heart, will she look into their eyes?
Will she make you pajamas too?
Will she make your bed?
Will she wash your clothes?
Will she scoop the litter box?
Will she bring you tall glasses of ice water
in the summertime
when you’re outside doing yard work?
Will she stand up to you
when you try to force your hand?
Or will she just drink and watch TV with you?
Enjoy a rock concert or two,
a fancy dinner, a fancy vacation,
just her and you…
That’s what you wanted, yes?
Another you, with longer hair
and a female body
to help you forget
what you left behind.
It’s a new day,
and with it comes renewed energy,
and renewed hope.
Can I keep the faith?
A woman said to me yesterday
Faith is spiritualized imagination.
Can I draw from Spirit and my imagination
a scenario that is in the highest and best interests
of everyone, including the one
I continue to blame for my misfortune?
God, give me strength.
Let me see the truth
and move forward with purpose.
Choosing clarity, sobriety,
seeing where it will lead me.
Can I hear God’s voice better today
than I heard it yesterday?
Let this be my measure of success:
That I listen to the promptings of Spirit,
I walk with grace upon this world,
I do nothing that insults my inner being,
but choose only that which will exult
my soul, the world’s soul.
Let my prayers be heard:
I am not just this body;
I am the light of consciousness
shining through this human form.
Let me remember who I really am.
I’ve been searching for something out there,
sometimes catching a whiff of its fragrance
in the wind.
It would render me melancholy
to sense it but experience it
so far away,
when my heart longed for this thing
I could not know.
Sometimes it was a rush of cold air
into my nostrils
as I stepped from my grandmother’s house
into the winter night
and I’d search for the star
in the dark blue sky
that told me the light
was returning soon.
For the longest time
I feared the magic and suppressed it
much to my heart’s dismay.
The whole world seemed cold and dark
and I was trapped in a prison
of my own making.
Spirit came to rattle me out of my cage
and throw me into the light of day.
Such a fool I was,
resisting a project of God’s hand.
How can I stop the ocean from surging?
How can I move the sun in the sky?
How can I make the moon glow brightly?
How can I give the gift of new life?
I only experience these things
because consciousness pours through me.
Who made this consciousness,
the perceiver and the perceived?
My body speaks clearly.
Its language is believed.
I trust the longing in me now.
The magic in me swells alive within.
I open the door to the cold and dark everywhere
and catch its beloved fragrance on the wind.