Sometimes, a poem arrives with a shocking surprise. I wrote “Between times” yesterday as a completion note on the last page of my journal. I was resisting the urge to close out that journal and start a new journal right away. I did not expect to be “confronted” with the question that arrived for the last line:
When all is said and done, when the accounts are settled and the books are closed, when you have the tiny opening before the end becomes the beginning; and you sigh the sigh of relief that goes with all letting go, you can, if you are quick, settle into the blissful void between one thing and another. Then, simply, let your senses rest and let the seconds cradle your soul. You will find yourself in a place that needs only your breath to be your home. You will feel the moment clothing you in comfort. You will feel the blessing of Life as it annoints you for your full presence, which it can only offer in the between times when you are not splintered into the world or turned backward into yourself. Only in the between times are you truly open to hear the question life will always ask you with genuine curiosity: why do you live so much of your life in your own absence?