2.2
April 30, 2012

Wasted Lives.

I feel like I’ve been moving in slow motion lately.

I feel like doing nothing all of the time.

Lying in bed and watching the shadows on the wall. Listening to my breath. Feeling it move my chest up and down, thinking about the bones that are moving in coordination with that breath.

I guess that this is not actually doing nothing. All of this is contemplation about the smallest details that are happening in each moment. It’s about really feeling them and appreciating.

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,

Asleep on the black trunk,

blowing like a leaf in green shadow.

Down the ravine behind the empty house,

The cowbells follow one another

Into the distances of the afternoon.

To my right,

In a field of sunlight between two pines,

The droppings of last year’s horses

Blaze up into golden stones.

I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.

I have wasted my life.

~

“I have wasted my life.” This line from the poem, “Lying In A Hammock At William Duffy’s Farm In Pine Island, Minnesota,” lets us know that in this quiet, reflective moment he really gets it. He wishes that more of his life had been spent doing just this. Doing nothing but appreciating the beauty of what is and being present for it.

I want more of this in my life. I wish you the same, my friend.

~

Editor: Brianna Bemel

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