Sit still

If I don’t sit still - I have no idea about where I am - it is commensurate to how much I can sit still that my ability to know myself grows. I have not sat down since Friday. I can tell this because my sitting seat is covered with sawdust and dirt - a pile of radishes sat where my bum would - and willed me back to this place - long after I chopped and fermented them.

Sit still.

This was a teachers reprimand when I was young. Now, it is a self measured act of love from my deeper self. I want to know where I am - in what forrest in myself - smelling what scents. I want to feel the breeze cool my legs - the birds contentedly feeding their young (are they contented?) and all the while know that even if I cannot locate the exact location of where I am - this sit will bring me back - closer to my heart - my homing beacon - gather in the chicks to my chest - hold on to what has been fought for for so long.

Why the dreams still of you? Warm, friendly, and oh so sexy? No reason - just the elements of you still passing between us - like no one’s looking, no one is noticing what is being wrought in secret, in the lowest parts of the earth - where your birth echos my own.

For the men

Self soothing