I am so small: a midget-mind of tiny, round stature.

I crave what I have not achieved:

My book to entice others to read what I write,

The weight-loss program from Jesus, or maybe Mary Mag who got to walk off her calories in rope sandals.

I don’t have fame/fortune/freedom to practice

Traveling, walking in crop circles, napping in the King’s Chamber for what dreams may come.

I don’t even have someone to talk to about these things,

So perhaps that is first.

I’m not polite anymore

I can barely hold myself in check

When things aren’t going my way.

I often say I’m feral & others think me joking

But I’m not, really.

And I don’t want to hurt feelings,

But when you’re in front of me & cannot say what you mean

Your analogies falling flatter than Florida panhandle,

When your ideas cannot leap even a curbstone

Your life is a cartoon of uncertain nature,

I haven’t’ the patience to await your figuring it out.

I walked out of a movie yesterday filled with the F word, with suffering women & girls riding fast horses, dismounting into their mothers’ shoes…

I practically ran out of church today after a lackluster, energy-less, error-filled display of what was purported to be a DNA upgrade. My own DNA slipping away as I sat; the woman next to me with eyes closed – sleeping? Meditating? And I would have likely kicked her bare feet escaping. Now I will take the end seat always…

As the uninspiring talk droned on, I chafed, rearranged my purse, tapped my legs: anything to keep from simply exploding into a bloody mess on the padded chairs in a wedding chapel of a room. Bloody hell! Chained by politesse.

Captive to still life when I want to simply walk out walkabout.

I need a teacher: a leader, a healer, a crone, a hero.

All is divesting, I drop endeavors like heavy rocks no longer to be carried – out of volunteering genes, out of knowledge of how to deal with the knowledge I have even as I acquire more.

I have put myself in a small place & caught fire.

I have put myself into a whisper while harboring the biggest voice in the world.

I watch those I perceive making a difference from a new place now.

From being born to teach, I see I was born to learn

But no one to instruct me, no one to act out new understandings, no one to see it my way. Three no’s form a knot.

What would I tell someone in my position?

Don’t be still anymore.

Dance it out.

Do something.

Begin.

Become the beggar at my own door.

I have wake-up nightmares of inability to resolve:

People want to steal my car & I cannot turn it on to drive away.

I am being chased but my feet are mired.

I am screaming as I make no sound at all…

Classic Freudian interludes of uneven nights.

New information I cannot apply yet, yet must use.

Me & the world

On the edge together

Kicking our heels over the chasm.

Understanding what it is to fly

Waiting for the wings to grow in.