Sometimes I Struggle
For decades my hands wore clay
as if they were noble gloves searching for truth and peace,
writing was my back seat passenger, as I stumbled through
the chaotic canals of my insides. not knowing which way to turn,
letting go of one art for another, was never easy and still
calls me to consider the non accomplishments of accomplishing.
don’t even get me started on distractions, I just signed up for a fiber course.
sitting in my studio, I recognized an inner distrust in myself
or was it. Maybe it was a critical voice from long ago,
chastising me for neglecting something I was “suppose” to be doing. What could be more important than doing what I’m doing? Therein I find the lessons needed.
Looking out at the butterflies,
I wonder if they ever stop for a moment, asking,
“Maybe I’m suppose to be on the butterfly bush and not the echinacea ?”
Nope, they simply move about from one to another,
enjoying, ever so playfully this thing called life.
Does having a mind, really make me mindful…
I kinda think that taking the time to watch the butterflies
in a mindful, ever present manner will re- center me
in the same way my clay once did.
If all of the above sounds like a flitting butterfly,
then I think I have succeeded, at least for now.
Who knows what happens next,
but sucking in life’s nectar is on the top of my list.