Counselling is a Lie

 Counselling is a lie
You cannot hold space.

Space is breathed
Moved in
Inhabited
Moved within

Space is sized
Larger, smaller
Sometimes too much
Sometimes too little
Depending on who is measuring

Space is encountered
Breathed
Touched
Bumped against painfully
Rested upon gently

Space was there
Before you noticed
And will wait around 
After for your return

Space holds your absence 
Patiently
Comfortably
Did space even notice you leave?

Space is

And space holds you
When you lie
And pretend to be holding space
For someone
For yourself
For whatever reason
The lie incepts

We hold space 
Like a newborn
Holds the strong finger
Of the arms that carry them
Into this angled world.

How do I lose myself?

I am not easily misplaced
Or forgotten,

Arriving as I do
Before even the curtains draw
And that first morning jug boils,
Bleary, yes
Grudging, at times
But always

I cannot leave me 
In my other pockets
Discovered by sharp inhale
As the ticket conductor arrives
Or the door holds me out.

Yet a casual tragedy plays out
All-to-often
The irretrievable slide
I am Goody Gumdrops 
Freed from coned confines
Straining to the floor.
I am the first whispered realization
As chair upends the strict hierarchy of repose
And painful equalization beckons.

I am my own nostalgic present
Unwrap this moment
And perhaps
I'll find me
Arrived already. 

Or just
My own muffled music playing
On the far side of my own wall.

Longing

Stretching out
This line reaches the end of itself
Holding hands
And so I return
Where I began.

There are immeasurable sunrises
Yet
Uncounted accidental moments:

The warmth of a book shared 
For quiet seconds
On a chair just the right kind of too small.

Catching my reflection
In a fresh mug of tea
I
Didn't have to find my way here
Yet
Here I am.

Stretching out
Growing away and yet towards
Holding hands
I return
Where I begin again.

Ascension

You took your leave
From the dust by the lake
A cloud came and carried you away
We were kinda hoping you would stay

This time

That this tree, maybe,
We weren't dying just to eat
We were kinda hoping for a feast

You took your leave 
From the dust by the lake
You said you'd come back and carry us away
We were kinda hoping its today

Next time
Was all the angel came to say

You took your leave
From the Garden and the Snake
A tree came to carry you away
We were kinda hoping you would stay

This time

This tree, maybe,
Has roots enough, reaches deep
Washes all our dusty feet.

Pinned

 And then she broke

Or so she said

Seamlessly whole, as always.

Pinned between the Milky Way and the grave.

Fragile new moon

But not the Hole story. 

She turned away

Or at least she tried

There is little awaying from your self

Pinned between the future and the past

Fragile present,

Wrapping herself in a hug. 

She sat beside me on the train

Or at least I thought of her.

I cannot take her with me.

Pinned between healing and hurt,

Fragile therapist.

She will path her own between 

After a busy day when confronting admin

 We must all come 
Find ourselves

And we will all be found
Regardless 

As the sun finds the morning
As breath finds the lungs

As I am found
In this muddy now
Beyond my knowing of self
Beneath this waterfall of thoughts

These words held
Hopelessly
Hopefully

Up 

That they may somehow
Someway 
Find 

You.

Marmite and Peanut Butter

 The spreads came home today
not the ones I first brought in

These are generations removed
from their founding slathers...

Yet somehow the same
filling in differently
When condiment gaps appeared

So different
        and yet

Somehow the same.
I'm thankful for each one.

The spreads came home today
and perhaps so did I

Spread thin across the too-dense grain
of baked in responsibility.

Did I really allow myself 
across so much...

Even when my own jar ran low?

The spreads came home today
buried beneath
a permafrost
of half-discarded papers:

resources that will quickly thaw
     if just given sunlight...

Or perhaps not

I keep choosing life so close to the poles.

The spreads came home today.

My drawer destined to another.
Will she squirrel within her own lunchtime company?
Or perhaps fill the space differently altogether?
I should pop by....

Or perhaps not

I am now that generation removed
from a lunchroom

Somehow the same
and yet

So different.