Hey, listen.
~Anne Marie Wenzel
This is the nature of meditation: the speaker
and the listener are one.
Listen to what I have to say. But I am not
the one speaking. The voice
is that of an imposter trying to escape,
and the more I try
to avoid the voice the more I speak. It
wasn’t always that way
I lie. It was, but for a while I wanted to
be here. Now I’m leaving again,
going to the lake, another life that
feels real; I don’t understand
the depth. I was afraid this would happen
even before I’d arrived.
My heart is breaking, and I refuse to quiet
long enough to examine
the crack, obsessing instead with movements
of the fingers, the eyes,
looking at anything but the fissure. But then:
How to explain those
moments of bliss, the happiness arriving
for no reason at all?
In those moments I ask: If my mania crashes
and burns, will it suck in
a backdraft of darkness that will stay for years, as my
happiness has? Something
to think about, or maybe not, maybe just listen, and let
things be as they may.
