And That is Enough
You crave light.
It is the depression.
You know this, but for the moment
you feel small.
It is early in the morning.
Time for prayers.
Time to meditate.
Time to write.
they draw your mind inward,
then outward beyond yourself.
Less magic than reality, too often missed.
dismissed as voodoo,
a reason to look askance at the practitioner.
Practice, they say, makes perfect.
I have my doubts.
Practice simply moves the needle
And that is enough.
I am skeptical of perfection,
doubting its existence,
an elusive lie that changes with the weather,
designed for madness in the chasing.
And for all the madnesses I possess,
that is not one.
Better will suffice,
a single step through the gauntlet of demons,
watching them part like the red sea.
No Moses you.
No people to save.
You left the saving business a coon’s age ago,
learning the secret: There is no secret.
Only forward, backwards or stuck.
that conquer the mountain,
complete with views along the way
if you remember to stop and savor.
About this poem
You’d think I would grow tired of writing about my path through depression. But I persist, mostly because writing is part of my path out. And it works for me. I could feel my mood shift as I put the words on paper. It’s like somehow the demons get pushed back in the cage simply by giving them words and names. Today, like many days, the mood between the first line and the last, grew better.
Cheap therapy, huh?
The picture was taken at the Rosenberg House, a house I photographed as part of a commercial assignment a while back. I loved the house, full of space and light, and just enough, never too much stuff.
Have a blessed day,