This morning I woke up, not wanting to get out of bed. I turned again and again into more thoughts of myself. But, instead of lamenting having to get up, suddenly, I thought, but I am up, and the day is my loved one, waiting for me to say “goodmorning.” I honestly believe we are all here, each moment, for a reason. And perhaps we are needed even more so when we are feeling down. For feeling down, or that weight, could be the Universe pulling you toward a moment so needing you that the anticipation of your arrival is a weight, a sadness but not a sadness. You feel confused, unwanted, but you’re just the opposite. Because you’re being woken up into a Newer-Importance. The-Next-Level of being human–and all changes are painful.
A friend once told me that the way she slowly left the stage of desperate, was to finally admit that she didn’t want to not want to not be. Maybe she couldn’t move beyond the dark, but at least she could admit the dark wasn’t her home…
And I dreamed, last night, of poems not yet written. This is the second night that’s happened. And though I try as hard as I can to wake and remember, it must not be Meant for me yet. It’s a foreign poem as all written things are that are not written by me. And yet it’s still very much mine. As is anything and everything for everyone in the Universe, both past and present. Both pain and joy. Cruelty and tenderness.
Glimpse what is almost-born. To remind.
And so I wrote this. And now I’ll be late for work.