mholland
When is joy full? Is there ever a moment where you can lose yourself entirely to joy and shut out everything else going on outside of it, or is all joy tinged at the edges with the haunting memories of loss or pain or hospital rooms or the toe you stubbed this morning?
An abandoned barn in the middle of a field gone to seed. Nothing as far as the eye can see but undulating waves of wheat, with the hint of something topographically interesting far off in the distance. Who would build a barn here? One tree stands to the side, dejected and bare, with a rope hanging down that must have once held a tire, or at least a plank of rough wood for bare feet and calloused hands to cling to. There is a tangible stillness, though an underlying and ever-present tension, as if the sky is waiting to burst into storm clouds and interrupt this desolate scene.
Words out of the mouth
Aren't rooted in the heart
Often enough
Words are flighty,
skimming surfaces and
grazing cheeks with
soft-winged razors,
deep and quick.
Raise your spade,
your trowel, your hands
And dig to what is
heartfelt
"Be still and know..." what? Why not move, go, stand, shout, breathe deeply this thing called life by going forth and sucking the marrow from it! "Sleep when you're dead," and all of that: our society's mantra.
We have forgotten what power comes from stillness.
Bargaining against yourself, because no matter how much leverage you think you have, exercising this power over other people never makes you feel better. Or if it does, maybe it's because you're releasing someone else's leverage over you; perhaps your soul is in the balance.