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In Recovery

In Recovery

Not knowing how it would be afterwards
I didn't have anything planned
So being here today is different

I am experiencing a future
In which I haven't any intention
I am arriving into a present
Without having any expectation.

The question is not how to slow down
And become aware
There is no question pressing forward right now...
None offering itself.

Until I form some kind of intent
Awareness is not in my head.

Sensations need a beckoning partner
to realise their shape.
Being here has nothing to do
With the thinking
In my head.

I am not alone
But they are not with me.
They are around me and
I'm trusting them.
They are there for me
But leaving me alone.

Right now
Their world is not mine...
Still they walk across my path
As it was a promise they made
Before this,
Long ago before we ever met.

And last week they said
(again) that they would...
It was because (rarely)
I had (and could make) a request.

Now as we meet here
They bring Questions...
Intention takes shape
And their Questions jump - 
Towards me.

They first tickle my innards
Before creeping through my belly
Reaching for pathways to my head.

Then I have to speak:
To express The Intention
One that may reluctantly

Re-connect me
With their world,
Ushering forward

New now-intending self
The one my “helpers” have decided
To shape me into
in this conversation today

 

If I dodge them
I can stay here

As I have not been here before
Not all of me...
I've wondered past
but never found this door.

 

Now I'm here
I am turned inside out...
Time does not mean anything
until Memory wanders uninvited
into view.

I'm not rushing by
As time will stop for useless distraction
(She is dressed differently today)
I can see her and her mates clearly though
I'm old enough to see them now.

I do not want to go...
If I get up I must show intent...
Helpers will see me.
I think I may let them.
They are many
But at least I know

Some maybe serving friends.


I fear though that I might
then have the urge to hold them.
Too soon to seek
to answer
to tame and to own.
 

Schedules may arise
I may re-join

The race.

 

I haven't been here before
and somehow
it feels like I've found a home.
One that I am loath ever to leave.

Please listen to the reading of this poem:

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