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Wild Woman Mind seeks solace: a prayer for (inner) peace

I used to get antsy in silence
Squirm and think up things I could do instead
But now I crave it
Now, the days of to-dos and two little voices in my life, and one big voice booming from within
I crave it like salt or sweets or a cocktail or sex,
Not something more middle-of-the-road:
Like a mushy lifeless tea bag floating in now tepid water, forgotten
It’s become my vice
And it’s the most luscious beautiful safe loving enveloping vice I’d want to know.
I can settle into breaths- just, breathing -like my body into warm covers, or giving in to
a bath that kisses my tired muscles
Sure, my mind some days is like wild ping-pong balls
But other days, the soft jasmine in the breezes of my childhood room.
I seek something that I don’t know how to be ‘in person’,
but yet is so familiar to all of my senses,
and all of the extra senses that the Divine bestows:
The line of foam that gathers at the shore and then slinks back out to mystery;
the space between the tall grass in the field
that I run my hands over but don’t always notice;
The radiating heat beaming off my skin after a sweaty run in July;
the way my mouth throbs with thirst and satisfaction.
I am thirsty for you.
I come to the altar of these unknown yet totally familiar things,
not necessarily falling to my knees – but sitting down,
Hands open from clenched fists,
Jaw loosened in the softening muscle of Time,
or on a pillow or a chair or a bench or the freshly cut grass,
or the naked flesh over my bones, my heart,
that called for it in the first place.

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