I never tell it that it is “a problem”
and, in return, it never tells me what I am
The House Spirits Listen
and they never ever tell me
what I am thinking or feeling isn’t okay
or that I shouldn’t be doing whatever it is I am choosing to do
neither does the hungry old cat, the green gardens,
nor the unusually heavy black buddha, busy in its disintegration
and absolutely not ever the wise dead cedar tree, sacred…
it simply keeps standing there, with all that it has left to give,
pointing upwards towards the moon and all of the stars above
the humble little fire pit is always there for me
even though I sometimes have no dry firewood left to burn
the perfectly sized river, flowing consistently,
West, never tells me to go away
never tries to claim that I don’t belong here
never needs me to be other than
exactly whatever it is I am
( doing the best I can )
I don’t have the words to describe this “feeling” that has me now…
I suppose if I had to pick, just one, or maybe two, they would have to be:
I ACCEPT