In the end!

After humanity has caught the last fish, after they dug up all that is left, after they cut down the last tree, and drank the last drop of clean water, only then will human beings see the devastation of their activities.

Our tears will not be enough
to hydrate and grow what we
reap and sow.

Only giving and forgiving ourselves will stop this disaster that is humanity.

Our future depends on change,
its hanging in the balance, blowing in the hurricanes and tornadoes, its breaking the earth quaking our souls and shaking our lives to the bottom of its foundation.

Yet silence breaks the cries of
the world, ignorance is a disease, it drinks our tears steals our breath for the popular vote.

There's no freedom after you choke.

Climate change is no joke!

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

Set a timer.
Watch the millisecs tick away;
Not so much telling me
How much time is left,
But how much is irretrievable.
Not like waves,
Washing upon themselves and returning.
Not like the hour glass
With sand that once was a boulder
That once was part of a mountain
That rose up from the burgeoning strife of life.
The hourglass, that looks right-side-up
Or up-side-down,
Depending on your perspective.
Not like sundials, pointing in the wrong direction,
And always running clockwise.
No,
Setting a timer
Alarms me
For all the same reasons
As wearing a watch.

My therapist recently asked me "have you ever tried mindfulness?"
I laughed a bit, remembering of the week-long mindfulness camp (sugarcoated for in-patient psychiatric care) I attended for troubled teens. I went to this twice.
This peaceful brain training was designed to give us a retreat when the world is too loud. During group therapy, most teens shared their experiences with domestic violence, yelling, S.A., running away, abuse. Endless. We were all numb, but there was so much comfort in being locked away with others who needed the respite as much as I did.
We would eat skittles and describe their flavor and textures. We would focus on our breaths. Make beaded art. Tell collaborative stories. Follow guided meditations laying on unfamiliar gym floors, giggling a bit as we "soared through clouds".
I jumped back into the talk session, remembering my dedication to mindfulness years ago. My anxiety followed me into adulthood. I think mindfulness can be out of reach, stupid.
And yet, I looked out of her dusty, sun filled window decorated with three vases of dry arrangements. My mind started to posture into how warm and antique this image felt. I felt hot, quiet tears building up from feeling that peace again.

There was a feeling by the name Romance,
who asked if I would like to dance,
but clumsy I
could not comply,
my legs fell off by pure mischance.