Alison Crosthwait

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THERE ARE NO FANCY ANSWERS HERE - A POEM

You sit down at your desk. Do you check your email first?

Perhaps something in your inbox tugs at you. A rescheduling… an added task… a small hurt.

Facebook.

Birthdays.

Silly videos.

The news.

An unacknowledged feeling in response to each thing - unacknowledged but sitting quietly in your pelvis making a stew.

In the middle of paying an invoice you remember you have to order toilet paper and before you can catch yourself you are gone - the invoice forgotten.

Your friend has exactly what you want and posts picture after picture…. she complains and brags all wrapped into one. How does she do this???

You’d give your life for this thing.

You post a picture of dinner last night. “Best time ever with my bestie.”

Likes start to flow in, “Look at you two beauties.”

You’re half an hour in.

You get a notice that the elevator at your office is out of service.

The health food store is having a sale.

Seth’s blogs are piling up unread - should you stay on his list?

More likes. “Love you two.”

Your inner dialog starts to seek some structure: "What is my main task today?"

"Did I spend long enough on my morning meditation?"

“What should I get for Belinda's housewarming party this weekend?

Wait.

Stop.

Turn wireless network off.

Stand up.

Raise your arms.

Bend your knees slightly.

Breathe.

Deep slow breaths.

And as you breathe, let yourself feel that which you long for. That thing that none of the messages are responding to.

Your soul is sending a notification.

Your soul is suffocating under the weight of all of this.

Let your soul breathe.

Cry, gorgeous animal, cry.

Cry for everything you wanted and everything you have.

Inhale by exhale, inhale by exhale……

Breathe yourself into being.