I did not enjoy my walk today.
It was cold and loneliness was my coat.
The ache of grief ate at me like a hunger.
No need to worry, though. This is my normal.
Days of unbounded enthusiasm.
Moments of gray.
A constant sway between the two.
I never learned to walk the tightrope of non-duality—that razor-thin line that people call peace.
That requires another kind of coat...a barrier between me and the senses.
How would I become one with the tree and feel how its damp skin flowers with moss and algae this time of year?
How would I BE the pansy, my roots embraced by the earth, my delicate petals bearing the bitter wind and devouring the delicious sunlight?
I make a conscious choice to feel too much. Even when it hurts.
There is plenty of time to be dead later.