it's like this:

what i'm trying to say is,
sometimes, life can seem like a long, hard march
through the darkness....

if not the actual darkness
of loss, illness, death,

then the imagined darkness
of loss, illness, death....

and sometimes there is no
respite, no ending, no light
at the end of the tunnel....

and no difference between
the real and the imagined....

and the only antidote to
wrenching times
is to allow your soul to be wrenched....

rent asunder, broken to bits....

only when you sit in shards
can you feel the essence that
you had bottled up in ideas
and wishes
and arguments
and dreams....

like the buddha under the bodhi tree,
when all is lost, and in the quiet of your emptied mind,
you can feel the fabric of the universe....

just waiting for you to notice,
just waiting for you to remember

that the only fools
are lonely fools....

and that your secret can be
your absolute delight
in the cacophony of leaves,
in standing naked under the moonbeams in your bedroom,
in feeling the angels surge around your struggling shoulders....

______________
©2011
beth anne boardman