Breathing in the stillness,
inhaling refreshment
tasting the thin
soft air
and allowing my mind
the freedom
to wander
move
swerve
where it naturally flowed,
I drank in
from all the senses.
With plum-scented wafts
tickling my face,
I would close my eyes
and tune out the chaos
of the day,
trading it for a calm dark
and listen to the music
of the night
the quiet
the wind
the frogs
the bugs,
taking it all in,
feeling it
enjoying it
expressing it
by repeating words
phrases
verses
until they were
ingrained.
Yet at some point
that became
unproductive
trifle
frivolous
as if I should have
grown out of it,
because it would be ridiculous
for anyone
to bother with anything
that wasn’t clear
resolute
tangible
quantifiable.
Did I leave silly things behind
or
did I leave part of myself back
because I erroneously
bought into the admonition
that listening
feeling
pulling thoughts together
into cohesion
from where they had scattered
was just a waste
of time?
By pushing myself
to grow out of it
be something more
do more
with every second,
did I trade rest
fulfillment
joy
for productivity?
Did I just let go
give up
on refueling
on what I need to sustain every day
by inadvertently disregarding
or fully ignoring
what used to be
my Sabbath?