What the what the what?

From Out the Cave by Joyce Sutphen

When you have been

at war with yourself

for so many years that

you have forgotten why,

when you have been driving

for hours and only

gradually begin to realize

that you have lost the way,

when you have cut

hastily into the fabric,

when you have signed

papers in distraction,

when it has been centuries

since you watched the sun set

or the rain fall, and the clouds,

drifting overhead, pass as flat

as anything on a postcard;

when, in the midst of these

everyday nightmares, you

understand that you could

wake up,

you could turn

and go back

to the last thing you

remember doing

with your whole heart:

that passionate kiss,

the brilliant drop of love

rolling along the tongue of a green leaf,

then you wake,

you stumble from your cave,

blinking in the sun,

naming every shadow

as it slips.

First, I apologize for taking so much of a break from my blog. I haven't been that busy, but I have been doing things, and I have been working on my 30 for 30. I still haven't signed up for a Flickr account, which is evidently the way around the whole picture/blog business, but I do have many pictures piling up since December to show you. I am getting very close to my 31st birthday (2 more days!), and the chances are that I won't be able to finish the list that I set out for myself, though I may be able to finish 30 acts of kindness that are smaller, perhaps, than my original planned acts, but still acts of kindness. I am happy to do my part in any way I can! In a few days, or perhaps weeks, I will publish my finished list for all to see. 

In the meantime, I've been thinking about this poem. A dear friend of mine recently said to me that she is reading a book by Pema Chödrön, and that just a page or two every day helps her to feel grounded. Recently, I haven't been practicing this for myself. I feel the lack of mindfulness so accutely. The lines that I appreciate so much from the poem above say, "when, in the midst of these / everyday nightmares, you / understand that you could / wake up, / you could turn / and go back / to the last thing you / remember doing / with your whole heart". What was the last thing I remember doing with my whole heart? How often have I cut into the fabric too hastily, taken the wrong turn while I was driving, ignored the brilliant view in front of me? I'm distracted so often. I let other worries and concerns creep into my thoughts and I let it disrupt what I'm doing at that moment. But I want to stop and go back. I want to really be where I am. When I'm with my sister, I want to look at my friend and listen to what she's saying and taste the tea I'm drinking. When I'm listening to my students read, I want to really concentrate on what they're saying and asking me and give them my full attention. When I'm outside, I want to notice everything, all the living things around me, and the nonliving, too. I could wake up. I could go back and do something with my whole heart again.