Metamorphosis
It no longer bothers me that I have nothing to do.
After weary years of being sensible
About umbrellas and galloshes
And heeding the warnings about
Mad Dogs and Englishmen
And reminding myself
That it’s only water,
I’ve hung my raincoat by the door
And now choose to ignore the rain.
No muss.
No fuss.
All is well.
I’m content in this moment.
I have overcome an unnatural urge
To be doing something,
Doing anything,
Just doing
And would rather be
Doing nothing at all
About nothing at all
In perfect serenity,
Free from guilt
And content in the moment.
A base camp before the final assault
To gather the strength and prepare
To destroy the moral high ground
And replace it with my own.
Just another plateau
In an kaleidoscopic landscape.
Stand there, face uplifted to the sun
And breathe the air.
Be aware of your surroundings,
Become attuned to them
And bond with them.
Mindfulness has its place
Where context becomes personal
And told in your own terms.
I pray this is the one.
Everything that is in my sphere
Can influence that which comes next.
Now that I am here,
I recognize it for what it is.
Just another stage,
Just another play,
Just one of many.