I’m feeling it – the load of responsibility. I am feeling it tremendously today. I washed the left over dishes from my weekend meal prepping after work. I wasn’t thrilled at the idea yet recognized it would be the mental immunity I needed from a ‘mind full day’. 

Dishes. It’s meditative. There was a rise of energy; a stream of consciousness. It asked me to notice, to be aware of my body. I dropped in and allowed abstractions of thoughts to flow into ideas and form words. 

Single-mom parenting. 

Co-parenting. 

Leadership. 

I felt superbly impressed. 

Like, “Fuck yeah, we’re all doing it!” while simultaneously feeling weighty and tender. More ideas filled my mind, more images filled the space with words, and a payload of thanks dropped into my body space.

”Loading 65%…”

Humanity. We are.

It felt as though I was downloading an immense level of gratitude and yet I continued to feel a seed of pressure clinging to my chest. I could drop to my knees and weep— in both suffering and joy.

I desire to “lay in water for days”, I said to a friend. 

I’m expletively whooped!

Who am I? A writer that doesn’t write. Now that’s humor.

Frantic, no where in line, like in a zombie movie

pile after pile they rise up and climb 

they rise up and…

It’s time to rise, daily shine, wake-up 

Yet we all share a good night 

And imagine we’re sleeping

We’re awake dreaming 

That feels good. That feels real good. The content doesn’t even matter. It’s the way I’m moving life force from several parts of this body into a semblance of focus; into a flow of ideas and rhymes. 

I’m a writer.

Being responsible.

I laugh now. It’s both comical and painful. 

We desire more play. We desire more rest. We desire more creativity. 

We desire love in what we do. 

Question: is it love in what we do or who we are?

To be continued…