Everywhere, not enough.
Everywhere, not full.
If we aren’t unhappy with this, then it’s something else.
Our minds buzzing, our hearts like scooping mud
From a lake that keeps closing onto itself.
Folding and drowning, onto itself.
Even if we desire, we cannot enjoy this
Browning avocado, its bright fleshy layer waiting underneath.
Why are avocados so difficult, we wonder?
Why is this home hot in the summer and cold in the winter?
The bees are collecting their pollen
From the wall of jasmine
You watered for weeks out on the terrace
And the lemon tree is finally sprouting.
The roses have opened their purple eyes, while somewhere,
Across the way, the neighbour is complaining
About how there isn’t enough shade.
Honey is being made all around us and the sky is open and wide for our imaginations
And yet a child, sitting in her silence, feels alone,
Afraid and begins to numb herself with whatever she can find in the pantry.
There is beauty every day
In the wonderful woods, and
The children distract themselves with screens.
We must seek wisdom. We can do without things, but not wisdom.
We must have the intelligence to feel and love the world
As it present itself in every moment.
We must have the intention to feel what’s full
In the emptiness of the world.
Let’s admit there is honey oozing from the hive.
That there isn’t a problem once we decide there isn’t.
We stand at the bottom of a giant hive hanging from a mangled tree
Dripping honey over our heads.
It coats you like a blanket in the high noon heat.
To be utterly coated by the magic of small angels and open our eyes and mouth
And taste the world for what it is.
Full and dripping sweet madness.
The honey in the pantry.
Small, in plastic, gripped by a child’s hand.