It is in these medium-sized hours,
on these winter mornings that I find
the most peace.
It is while standing at the end
of my driveway that I can feel
my connection to everything.
The soles of my boots do not impede
or interfere with my energy’s ability
to connect, through miles of iron,
directly with this planet’s core.
The stillness is not still,
despite my own.
There are ignitions and other beginnings;
small voices protesting the final bus ride
to school; the holiday pending.
Despite this minor background noise,
this unadorned stillness connects myself
to something larger and more substantial
than I can speak, write, or even understand.
This conduit is in all things, in all people,
and is the unspoken, unwritten definition of
what it actually means to be awake, alive, and
alert to...what?
Is it God?
Is it my sense of self?
Is it you?
All of you?
All of humanity?
Is it my sons?
My daughter?
My beloved?
Yes.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
It is in these medium-sized hours,
on these winter mornings that I find
the most peace.
It is while standing at the end
of my driveway that I can feel
my connection to everything.
The soles of my boots do not impede
or interfere with my energy’s ability
to connect, through miles of iron,
directly with this planet’s core.
The stillness is not still,
despite my own.
There are ignitions and other beginnings;
small voices protesting the final bus ride
to school; the holiday pending.
Despite this minor background noise,
this unadorned stillness connects myself
to something larger and more substantial
than I can speak, write, or even understand.
This conduit is in all things, in all people,
and is the unspoken, unwritten definition of
what it actually means to be awake, alive, and
alert to...what?
Is it God?
Is it my sense of self?
Is it you?
All of you?
All of humanity?
Is it my sons?
My daughter?
My beloved?
Yes.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications
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