Love Letter To His New Donor (a summoner’s aubade)

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Dearest friend,

May I call you this? We’ll soon both be
members of a cherished club,
and as such I feel, already, a kinship.
As I write this, the mouths of the
purple morning-glories beyond my window
are achingly gaped,
singing your praises I like to think,
knowing you are coming,
and the sun is brilliant, almost white,
on this late-winter morning
after a week of sunless rain.
You are coming. This I know.
And I feel hope, which scares me some.

I am grateful and sad. I think we both know why,
and there is enough disappointment in myself
without continuing to reinvigorate it
with words.  I ask only this:
Walk deliberately toward it.
Trip and fall, if it comes to it, but take no prisoners, least of all him.
Expose panties. Jump back up. Make a joke out of the spill,
scrappy like I know you must be.
Then keep on stepping high.
Keep him in gentle accord.
Keep yourself there too.
Above all, breathe. The dark nights for both of you
will soften their edges, and the morning-glory
will yawn again each dawn to remind you that you are as glorious.
Send me a postcard from beyond the moon.
I hung out there myself once.
We’ll regale together this love supreme that
keeps us all rallying for one another.

 

PLEASE visit  http://kidneyforhans.com/  and do a girl a solid.

 

Always At My Fingertips

gyan-mudra

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes.”  Marcel Proust

Last week I was in a bad way.

Just life stuff.

Then I immersed myself in a daily regimen of meditation.

I do that anyway, but this has been more of an intensive.

And already I feel lifted, unburdened, and putting everything in its proper perspective.

My home and family were not destroyed in a typhoon.

I wasn’t the victim of a bomb explosion.

What’s happening in my life right now is merely an inconvenience, not catastrophe.

Sure, there’ll be moments again where I’m ready for the razor blades,

but it’s reassuring to know that there is a concrete way to anchor myself

always at my fingertips (in gyan mudra!)

whenever I need it.

God bless the power of silence and turning inward.

 

 

Angela Carole Brown is the author of three published books, The Assassination of Gabriel Champion, The Kidney Journals: Memoirs of a Desperate Lifesaver, and Trading Fours, and has produced several albums of music and a yoga/mindfulness CD.   Bindi Girl Chronicles is her writing blog.