This weekend, next weekend, and onward (edit)

This weekend, of course, is very busy. Next weekend will be too, but: I am going on retreat. An outline is forming in my head. I might make a meeting on Friday night; I will definitely make my Saturday morning meeting, which I haven’t made in quite a while now. I might also make a meeting on Sunday. A.A. is a fine place to get to often while on a personal retreat.
I shall work on my dining area bedroom space. I want to make it absolutely clean and clear and free. I am thinking of even treating the younger folk to internet cafe time so that they aren’t on the computer in my space. I expect to be appallingly underdressed while I do the down and dirty work there, because it’s summer in NYC, and we live in a brick oven.
I have a lot of stuff to work through. I am going to call my psycheeatrist to make a new appointment, having had to miss my previously scheduled one. I also need to get from him the names he gave me of therapists who are in network on our insurance. Although I miss M so much, and love working with her, the truth is that our family budget simply can’t absorb the costs of working with her, even at the significant discount she gives me from what she charges other clients.
So this weekend I shall make merry and type my fingers to the bone; next weekend I shall be tending to my spiritual and spatial needs.

Yesterday’s whittery ramblings. Have a fine day.

Edit: I had to leave work and go home, I’m sick. 🙁 Everything’s up in the air now, including my tummy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Midmorning shift

Each step
weighted by stones
or etched by acid
while fog comes down
denser each minute
yes fog thicker than any smoke

If seems such a tiny thing
behind it lie questions
for more than a lifetime
there’s that chasm again
my dream shifts to an Adirondack chair
alone by a field
where the frilly flowers grow
more than ever now I see
the only answers lie in me

~~~~~~~~~~

That old oblivion

I pray for peace
one answer for so many pains
gleams before me
quick and clean
so simple
it has lain in the core of me
all this confused life long

Not yet
do some good
think back to morning
before a black hole formed
early
when all that seemed out of
alignment
was their sleep

A friend
holding a hand
open
with a wicked furling of a cape
see one pale flaccid face
vanish
leaving dark and silence
easy slumber for all

Even children seem to scream
for it seems there is injustice in me
I cannot speak now
my pen and a dingy pad
my chosen and suitable companions
the air stings my skin
but I pray for peace

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