Our Lives Are Never Our Own


Life is delicate

and soft

and easily shifts from tide to tide.

Hansel suffers from a chronic illness that sometimes keeps him up at night.  And over the years I have developed my own form of reiki that I perform on moments like these.  Where I imagine roots suddenly spurting from the soles of my feet and anchoring me deep into the Great Mother herself.  And I inhale energy and light–and exhale his pain.  I move my arms strong and steady across his legs until the circulation–the prana–the whatever is causing such turmoil gets the message that it’s time to release.  And I do this again and again till my sweet beloved falls asleep.

Sometimes it’s midnight–sometimes the sun is just about to rise.

But I don’t give up until he does.

And I’m always amazed by the burst of energy I’ll have.
The way I can wake up from my own deep slumber and perform this ritual for him.

Our lives are never our own.

We kid ourselves–
because when we strip our clothing
all we see is our bare skin and vulnerable nudity.

We think the journey is for us alone.

Though I’ll say this again,
Our lives are never our own.

We are like branches on a tree.
Salt in the ocean.
Molecules of dust in the air.

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