Who’s to say this will make more sense the next time through
May I be happy
I’m sitting by the window, watching the scenery flow from mountains to trees to towns to streams, power lines bowing and rising, the sound of the rain on the roof providing chaotic counter to the grinding, clanging, banging of the tracks. The temperature shifts each time I step outside from bracingly cool to a growing warmth; the humidity when we pass through the valley rests on my skin like a sweater.
Always on the move, constantly craving a new scenic view, forever hungering for novel tastes, never resisting the drive to move inexorably forward. Two speeds for walking – I am late for the train; I am currently on time but prefer not to dawdle.
I’m sitting on my bed, watching the scenery flow from mountains to trees to towns to streams, the sound of the fan on medium speed providing steady counter to the ambient train video playing on YouTube. The temperature is set to a steady 68 degrees Fahrenheit. I am both chilled and sweaty.
Always restless, constantly forgetting why I went in the other room...
May I be peaceful
Both are true, old and new, existing in fullness and yet I never was, authentic to the nth but truly misleading.
The wandering storyteller and the silent monk, facing into the unknown, fueled by haphazard whims and a need to catch my breath and driving purpose and a need for sleep. Always wandering, always wondering. I cannot see them, the one I am not today.
May I be well
If I can’t perceive the other me, of course you can’t, of course you can’t simultaneously conceive of the me who is stronger than you would ever believe and the me that cannot leave my bed. You see the weakness more easily, I think. But you can imagine Superman as Clark Kent, yes? It’s like that, only not at all.
Learning to allow both to be, time is ever roiling cycles of the typical and the bizarre. Never a linear path of constant advancement.
The equinox of inflammation. The contradiction of self, the dynamic nature of the chronic, so different from the acute.
May I live with ease
Always have been many, for every cycle of time that was, and all from then are gone. All from when to come are unknown. An entire universe of perception in the mind of each of us, never identical to the person next to us, never the same as the we that we were.
Always wandering, always wondering.
Burrowing deep into my nest of blankets so I can fling myself freely at my next quest. I spent all my spoons at once and now I need to sleep for a week, but it was worth it.
May I find deep joy
You and I may live in slightly different layers of the multiverse, sharing space, but not time
Our ancestors measured the seasons by the patterns of herds and flocks, the blooms and seeds, birth and death and feasts. The hours you observe on your phone were designed for commerce. Does this leave room for living life?
Healers and patients are always running behind.
May I be free of pain
Hold space for stillness
We all know how to stop time.
What does a week mean when you are lost in the depths of grief?
What does an hour mean when your patient is suffering, and you don’t know why? What does a minute mean when there is a stabbing pain behind your left eye? What does a day mean when you are covered in hives?
What does a night mean when you cannot stay asleep?
May I be free from harm
How do we sync our clocks when we move at such different speeds?
This world will not gift us with rest. We must steal it for ourselves to satisfy our voracious appetites.
We learned of time as children when everything happened in "just a minute" or "later, first, go clean your room" or "we'll get there when we get there"
But then time became "it's due on Monday" and "I'll have that done by four" and "sorry I'm late, traffic was terrible"
And then it was "we have no idea when this will end, this may be your new normal."
May I be free of suffering
But what is a week when you fall in love?
What does a minute mean while a hawk is languidly circling the sky?
What does a day mean when you have a perfectly brewed cup of tea and a sunny spring day with a low pollen count?
What does an hour mean when you can choose to take a nap?
Pain may teach me
but suffering will never befriend me.
May I know lovingkindness
Can I love you if I cannot fix you?
Always shifting from movement to rest, constantly craving a fuller breath, forever hungering for nourishing tastes, never resisting the curiosity which moves me relentlessly forward as I am able, and sitting in stillness when I am not. Two speeds for living – I am late for nothing; whoever I am today is enough.
Will you join with me now, and just breathe? Just be? I wish I could see the universe of perception that is yours, but for now, we will begin here. We have held this space; we join in the stillness which we have grabbed for ourselves to meet our voracious cravings.
May we know lovingkindness
Join me, all who hunger and wish and breathe, all who heal, or need healing, all who are angry, who grieve, who are cranky and impatient, who are full of hopes and fantasies, and all who wish to forget yesterday’s hopes. All who have searched for answers for years and those who have nearly given up. All for whom everything just made sense for the first time, and you cannot wait to tell someone who understands! All who share intimate knowledge of each other’s suffering, and those who think you could never live like this. All who are empty and full and warm and cold. All who have an inappropriate sense of humor and an inability to engage in social situations and silly stories from that one time...
Bring what you have! You never know what someone else might need.
It is time for a feast of ideas,
of tension held ever tightly in a loose grasp of questions you have hesitated to ask.
May we know lovingkindness
Join me, before we begin this bountiful feast, which we laid out with generous hands,
and just breathe.
Move.
Rest.
Be.
Written by Audra Almond-Harvey