Baraka_Guru

I awoke to the sound of traffic
and sunshine flooding the room.
The door was wide open beside the bed,
and I knew it was you who had left it
that way—the cats were off the hook.

I know you think the fresh air and sunshine
is only good for me, but I don't think I could
have done the same to you: leaving an open door,
letting the world in on you as you slept.

Maybe that's the problem. Am I shutting you away?
I should be bringing you to see the world, but our world
is shrink-wrapped into this tiny apartment—stale dated.
I've become oblivious to dates, and the sunlight is passing us by.

I don't want it to be too late for you to see what there is
to see in this life.

I want to open the door while you dream, as you do to me.

[A spontaneous poem based on the recollection of a sensation upon waking on a recent morning.]

__________________
Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön

Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot