The Little Things
by R. Noelle
The little things
seem like life.
They drift up into view
or fall in a thick blanket
woven so tight that
darkness is the only light.
Breath thickens,
shallows.
A non-life made of
illusions
becomes routine.
The little things
disguised as life
seem all important,
each one demanding
the energy of
fractured consciousness.
The search for joy
for pleasure
becomes God.
The ache for stillness
keeps you running.
The little things
about you
and others
that hurt and bother
and can’t be changed
sit on your shoulder
whispering,
“I will stay here forever.”
Not knowing your worth
or your purpose,
you believe it.
The little things
you see
and feel-
the harshness of vulnerability,
the lack of compassion
make you question
the extremely personal or
hide under appearances.
Will you ever feel safe
being surrounded by
so much you can’t control?
The little things
that make up life
inside or outside,
are only our experience
of the mystery-
of seeking, longing
and of hiding.
The flitting little
tugs on awareness-
do they have to be
everything?
To fester in the little things
is the human torment.
The joys and sorrows
wish to be eternal.
Your presence falters
into scattered daydreams,
but somewhere underneath
in this moment
you hold the key
to something
monumental.
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