This being human is a guest
house. Every morning
a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and attend them all:
Even if theyre a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture, still,
treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

              -Rumi

And so it is. I sit taping as the rain titters on the tatter of the tin roof. A stick bug flies wildly on by. Dinner is being made, but not for me- salmon wrapped in tinfoil with a citrus smell. Toaster oven set to high. Bruno sniffs a chair then a cord, like a curious toddler. Tripping over his feet like a newborn deer as he heads to the stairs. So am I, straight trippin yo, stripped of something- aware of my own vunerability. All organs intact. I've been napping at noon, rising at the roosters crow. Periods of feeling revitalized and fresh are interrupted by rumination, self doubt, and inward ache. My own decision seems to haunt and free me in the same breath. I'm awake, my feeling flooding in and out without forecast. I tell myself I'm happy. I repeat it to myself in moments of doubt, and I feel it. The thought creates a warm bubble that floods my body and I look up, my inward brooding interrupted. I  watch the illumination of a glass, study a spider's back, watch my review mirror, and become lost in another world. Tomatoes are sweet jelly and leave your fingertips wet. Worries cease. The losing process is 1. denial 2. anger 3. bargaining 4. depression 5. acceptance.
Ay ay- "acceptance is the doorway to transformation". So I plunge, with a bravery new to me- in hopes that pain will bring a glittering and undeniably magical, transformation.

ANd a poem:

Ideally this will begin
and the ending will tie in
like two tight knots
and all the in-between
one continous thread
tightly woven

But when this began there was
no formulation
no diagram to follow
these words were borrowed
And this in between is a messy thing
lacking linear flow

Not knowing where next to go
threads flutter aimlessly
No looped tie
square-not
to make sense of the beginning

Let's call it art
essence of life
forget the imposing
antonym to begin
and leave others to interpret
the beginning middle

verse repeat.