It’s hard to be sure

if you’re climbing.

You know,

really going somewhere.

Or are you just milling about

as if you were

at a cocktail party.

Who can say

in what direction

you’re really moving?

Could be sideways,

or some off-the-charts

geometric angle.

Perhaps there are

no directions at all,

it just appears there are.

Or maybe you’re hanging

on for dear life

to the same rung

you grabbed hold of

when you slipped

and almost fell

so long ago.

Take The Time

In the noisy current of the New Year, the rapids of resolution threaten to drown me.  Perhaps I’ll leave it all behind and swim over here to where the river is calm, where ripples expand and gently dissipate.  I’ll try instead to be less goal-oriented, to let go, to take the time.  Maybe I’ll tenderly remove a bandage and take a look at the wound there, without striving for results or resolution, without pressuring myself for a reaction or a diagnosis.

Maybe I’ll become the river.