When Alone With Nothing To Do

When sitting within your Temple of Aloneness,
How do you measure this place?
Do you calibrate isolation?
Count inches or feet of distance?
Close curtains against morning light?
Do you cry; do you dance; do you run from this space?
Do you run to the kitchen?
 Do you sing to yourself?

As dark recesses appear
Where there is no one to view
The intimacy of desperation or
Plentiful privacy of voluptuous pleasure,
Hand upon shoulder, knees up against chest,
Find yourself full frontal in bed or gazing in mirror….
In these reserved places where no others see,
Do you allow yourself all of yourself to be?
 
Do you suck at your thumb as you did as a child?
Is there laughter or tears in contortions or smiles?
For your sake, I hope nothing so simple as despair,
No boundless grief where there is nothing to care,
When the anguished angles of elbowing dreams
Straightens to flex a new way for a prayer.
May you find in this space a canopy of grace,
Miraculous time just for you in this place.
 
Whether crouching on floor or lying in bed,
Nothing to fear if allowing secret fears
Crawl upon your arm as bare-fingered spider,
It will not bite, will not crush no matter what.
Do not hate this time, this passage known only by you….
Full of feelings floating as memories to surface,
Climbing up upon the body, snuggling on your lap,
Arms around only you, the center alone, this Sabbath,
Where there is nothing to be done.

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