I’m waiting for snow

For cold comfort

Eerie silence

Humming through dimly glowing

Twilight air

 

I’m waiting for snow

For chilly loneliness

Abandoned streets

Cars parked in

Nowhere to go

 

I’m waiting for snow

For outstretched tree branches

dark against the murky atmosphere

I’m waiting for snow

For the world to feel as lonely

and quiet as I do

Wind rustles bright red leaves

on a soft, chilly breeze

Floating along like old memories

coming back to visit me.

A scent in the air

earthy and primal — an aching knowing

that things eventually come undone.

The slant of light through trees

catching dusty particles of the past

that whisper to me that dust I will become.

A shake in silence

A storm blows in

Explosively quiet

Rage hits my head

The Sadness sits

Meting out blues like

Dripping dew

The Tulsi tea, organic and from India, spits steam on my computer screen. Before I can take a sip, the smell of sharp ginger and calming nutmeg hits my nostrils; one assultingly and the other delicately. I cradle the sides of the warm cup between my two palms and think, all emphatically, “this tea better be delicious!”  

In my experience, tea is a tricky and deceptive drink. It can smell so heavenly, like you want to roll in it or bathe in it to get at its essence, or at least spend the whole morning and afternoon in its company with books. The best thing is to taste it; consume it. Invariably, I try it out and take a sip, but, “ew! What the hell is this stuff anyway? I should have known flowers are to be smelled and looked at; definitely not to be steeped in boiling water and drunk.” Lavender and chamomile have their place in the world, and it’s certainly not in a cup of hot water.

This Tulsi tea, organic and from India, is different. Its smell is divine and cozy (like Thanksgiving or Christmas); but its taste, unlike so many other herbal concoctions, does not disappoint. I take a sip detecting a tang I surmise I will hate, but this tea greets me with its own deceit. The anticipated sour gives way to subtle notes of ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, and a goodness that cannot be named. My mind sinks into this cup of comforting delectability. For a moment, my heartbeat slows and I catch up with myself. What is this experience? I set the teacup down to think it out.

I’ve had my dalliance with drinking hot herbs. Tomorrow morning I’m going back to predictably plain, hot coffee. Maybe I’ll have an afternoon Tulsi tea, organic and from India.

Twisted branch and lightning

A rain that drizzles

Shiny sidewalks catch city lights

Shoes that shimmer

In mirrored steps

Colors run blurry

Up and down the block

Hissing, misty ghosts inside

The city’s chambered heart

Its beating sending

Echoes down the block

Echoes down the block.

I know my loneliness

Intuitively

Without words

Shadow feelings

 

I know it.

 

I know my loneliness

The ache in my blood

Pushing through my veins

The foggy memories of yesterdays —

Estranged

 

I know it.

 

I know loneliness

Like tree branches reaching

In vain

To touch the sky

To understand

An atmospheric essence

So different from its own

Ghost-like; a bit like home.

 

I know it.

 

I know loneliness

A glimpse

Of the whole

I try uselessly

To entirely behold

 

I know it.

 

I know my loneliness

A repetition

Of vaguely familiar words

From a language too close

To comprehend

 

I know it.

 

I know loneliness

The border that separates me

From you

I know it.

 

 

 

 

 

The cure for heartbreak

Is routine.

The mind knows

What to do.

The heart follows

Too shattered to begrudge

Some semblence of reason.

 

The cure for mind-ache

Is heart — all heart.

The heart intuits –

always accurately –

Healing needs.

The mind will follow

Too busy to take heed.

 

The mind draws back

While the heart leaps forth

Both giving always

What the other seeks.

 

 

The pause in between

Is the moment’s reckoning…

…Is the breath taken in.

It’s the break before love,

The rest before the fall.

The pause in between

Is not empty…

…Is not silent…

It’s the whispering answer

to the question, “what’s next?”

It’s the knowing before really knowing

…The still pulse before the beat.

It’s the heart’s inhale

before it takes its fateful leap.