yes, sit, be soft, be kind, with these your orphaned loves
the black smoke of sorrows hangs heavy
dense, acrid, cloying
no single specific reason
these things surface from time to time… shadows are sometimes foregrounded… rearing up, given substance beyond our imaginings
often, with me, it follows a joyful, full power morning yoga
melancholia seeped deep into muscles, settled, pooled in a habitual way of holding
good to limber, then loosen, mbe, if possible, allow to pass?
much of it is not even our own misery
some borrowed from the cloak woven by our ancestors
how many times did we bury our beloved children?
how often, as pastoral nomads, headed for the summer pastures, did we have to leave behind our infirm mothers, fathers, elders?
in more recent days, frequently the crops would fail, else pestilence and war squat malevolently upon the land
other woe was crafted just for us… as a baby, the cries which went unheeded
overwhelmed by the unknown… flinched from an imaginary blow
were we held, cosseted, our needs met? gnawed by the ignore
not a matter of blame, attunement is a most particular skill to master
nonplussed by our sorrow
yet self more porous than we might imagine… sustained merely by the lie of its perpetual telling
sadness, anger, the usual gang of neglected emotions, these with their ebb and flow, sweeping through us like a tide
others borrowed from the zeitgeist (‘times ghost’), the maw of the media which chews over, spits out
the myth kitty of our communal misery
what the stain of trauma and abuse?
climate catastrophe, how many species have thrown in the towel over the last decade?
so much masked in our culture of frantic buoyancy
which of us has not poured imagination, courage and love into a project… to find it comes to naught
as tho our dreams and hopes have no merit
to see others flourish
who has not told someone of our love for them, only to be ignored, pushed away
this love, so tender, its sweet perplexed smile
yes, sit, be soft, be kind, with these your orphaned loves