the inky well of a slow, deep night

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My teacher appeared to me

in the midst of my grief for him.

I was on a bench in a park in the

city. Buses were coughing by and

small shops were opening. And

since my teacher no longer has

hands, he swept a bird in my face

to break up my sadness. And since

he no longer has a mouth, the light

off the windows twenty stories up

drifted through the leaves. I said,

“I miss you.” And I thought I heard

him say, “Do everything while you’re

here.” Then it began to mist, though

the sun was shining. As if the Uni-

verse were crying at what it does to

us in order to keep going. Just then,

a child lost a ball. It bounced my

way. Now my teacher was in the

bounce and I thought I heard

him say, “Enough of this.

Pick up the ball and live.”

~Mark Nepo

under the guise of living well, we rush to seize our happiness…

inquiry for today~   what will you miss today through complacency, forgetting or self-doubt?

 

Nights and days and days and nights,

hundreds of them slipping through my fingers.

~Jean Rhys

2 thoughts on “the inky well of a slow, deep night

    • Oh me too. So unique within the haze of all the “feel good” poetry. This touches on the depth of our seeking I think. Thank you:) May you, too, know the wild spaces of the heart.

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