”As long as we’re caught up in always looking for certainty and happiness, rather than honoring the taste and smell and quality of exactly what is happening, as long as we’re always running from discomfort, we’re going to be caught in a cycle of unhappiness and discomfort, and we will feel weaker and weaker. This way of seeing helps us develop inner strength. And what’s especially encouraging is the view that inner strength is available to us at just the moment when we think that we’ve hit the bottom, when things are at their worst.” ~ Pema Chodron
I walk outside in the midnight blue of twilight. The moon is a sliver in the sky and either Venus or Mars hangs heavy in the sky, bright. Wish I may, wish I might. The snow is falling in its quiet way, if you don’t breath you can hear it hitting the surface of the cold pavement, you can hear it softly landing on the grass, you can hear as the trees sigh, waiting for the angle of the sun at spring. There is need, there is desire and then there is the quiet contemplation of my evening constitutional, the Writer is loud tonight, her words in my mind pure and crisp. She says that she doesn’t need the stars, and she doesn’t need you, and she will never need anyone ever again, but she says you are like the stars in the sky, she doesn’t need them, but for the poets inspiration, she wants them, her world wouldn’t be the same without them. Pirate, you stole the treasure of my heart. A heart I promised myself I would never give freely again. Hunter, you keep me by luring me in, capturing me, and letting me go again. Frustrated I want to give up the hunt. You scare me by your distance. And yet the more I come close the more you hide in the trees and keep your distance. I am sure I will not ever be able to capture you. You have not buried your treasure, but you keep it close, and I am not privy to your secret pearl. My problem is, mine is bare for all to see, I have never learned to protect it well enough. I am like a doe that thinks she may have scented a puma on a fleeting cross wind. I startle jumping, and then wait to smell it again, it all depends on how the wind blows whether I live or am killed by the predator that lurks quietly nearby. While you hide in your trees, I steal back my own treasure. And I walk away, and then I hear your call. I ignore you. You ignore me. Do you not tire of this ridiculous game? I am angry now. And I have no patience for this. I never have had, and that is part of it too. I feel unbalanced by your boundary gate for I have none and never have. I tried to build a gate three years ago, but I suck at it, and it all looked haphazard and broken, like it was a gate of ancient times, off its hinges. The truth is, this is hard and I feel off balance. No one has ever taken their time with me, no one has kept so quiet. I find treasure in the small gifts, heart shaped venison patties, and a kiss on the hand attached to the arm that is wrapped tightly around you. The times when you say your day is better for having me in it. But then you don’t answer me, you push me away, you don’t seek me out. I tell myself I am stupid for believing, I have always been stupid for believing. I am stupid for hope, for faith, for my fidelity. Yet you are my definition of a man, when none before you have been anything more than boys. And then your boyish joy at Christmas, charms me, I see myself in you, I gaze in wonder, as though I realize what I am hunting is my own reflection, but with antlers and the buck’s broad shoulders, instead of this old doe. Sitting with the brokenness of my heart, I realize, there is nothing to do but wait. Maybe someday you will come and sit beside me, maybe you won’t. I can no longer chase your shadow in the twilight. Starlight , light star bright, you were my wish tonight.