Noticing and Choosing Mooring and Grounding

I got up early.
I looked at my hair.
I laughed.
I pulled on a pair of shorts.
The body said that it was up to some.
The head laughed in joy and at the intoned limits of the body.
It was agreed the drive would be made to the Tree Place.

the entire idea of some, in the head today, so far
feeling self
smiling at the puzzle recognition of energy
the one that begins automatic restructure
energy flows
pieces refit
point one
the ground

treatment for the lungs
anxiety and spin
tell the brain to fret
and also to spin
signal of the mooring
more than anger or regret
a beacon
not to grasp
desperation high
a steady marker
a hold at core
observe the body and mind
for the notice of the beacon
and listen
to the next, last, gift provided
as reminder.


3 thoughts on “Noticing and Choosing Mooring and Grounding

    • hm
      a poem?
      I was just writing a list of things outside and inside.
      It does kinda look and feel like a poem doesn’t it?
      I think that I might be trying to work on getting the music and colors out of my head into words. I dislike that they come out like a list or disjointed looking. I feel like an artist with a perfect painting in my head and my hand can only make stick figures. I used to wonder at the scent of basil for an hour, and then what happened to me and to my thoughts rippling out from that. And then, somehow, I got back around to noticing what others thought, and some of their thoughts where….”that’s weird” or “you need something to do…must be nice to have so much time on your hands.” I let that break my spirit. I let it have me withdraw, some of me died. I have been mourning me for a long time. I forgot, I think, that for the most part it’s just a choice I can make. I wish that I didn’t have to be quiet about who and what I am, so that I didn’t risk being put down. I’m always waffling there. Ok, so now I’m worried that I’m talking too much and that I was supposed to just say…thanks.


      • I know what you mean, at least a bit. I have let thoughts like this break my spirit, too. And I know what you mean about that struggle to be quiet about what we are, and how we can go through life feeling put down by it. How magical that you can wonder at the scent of basil for an hour. How utterly magical!


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