Bowing to driven-ness

I feel the pull of silence

Like a deep, dark pool;

A simple gentling embrace,

Filling and nourishing every cell of my body.

And, at the same time,

I feel the momentum of my driven-ness,

Searching for anything my mind and body can do

To fill my time and take my energy

Up, out and away from this precious moment;

Up, out and away from this silence and this

Embodied breath.

 

As my head bows down to this,

And my body becomes heavy and alive:

suffused with the generous gravity of presence,

Small and tenacious tentacles reach out,

Searching, searching…

For what?

To hold on:

To hold onto something, anything,

As if my life were at stake,

And keeping busy were the only hope of survival.

 

Who or what wants to survive?

Who or what bows down to this?

All I know is this:

The bower simply, humbly – in bowing –

allows,

And maybe even kisses,

The one who is intent on keeping busy –

Being somebody,

Achieving something,

Filling every moment for dear life.