i sit down.

rumble round to get comfortable.

and the flow begins — 

   meditation, so they say —————

and all these little devils arise.

one by one.

a discomfort here, an idea there . . . 

each one a distant relative.

what do you want?

as if that’s any way to speak to a child.

5. 12. 17. on and on. last year’s 45. yesterday’s 46.

each one.  so scrambling for my attention.

‘shut up and leave me alone’ i could say to each one,

each of these little devils.

i have before.  others have too.

but that only makes them louder,

some parabolic payback . . . quiet for a moment and then the loudest shouting — 

tornado coming…the stillness and then the unpredictable chaos, destruction,

how poorly i then treat the next person and the next person of my ongoing future

and then i try to sit down and meditate, find the flow again 

but then the devils have multiplied as i didn’t find love for myself with that other person

that version of myself a few moments ago

and tangled my webs even more

and i am more miserable, and all those i’ve treated badly — inept me

what to do then?

what to do?

i sit.  rumble round.  and open my palms, my lap, 

for each of these little devils to come for love

to sit in my lap.  to be embraced by my simple sleep-breath, my heart, my whole self.

and then magic happens.  the little devil is less loud, glows


love of some magical sort embraces us — this now-me and this awhile-back-me

who knows how it arrives?  all i can do is allow it, let it well up

from who knows where

and i find myself kinder, more compassionate for the devilish craziness

friends and adversaries put out toward me

even they who live outside me can be held, loved

open palms not necessary, though possible

open heart and lips enlivened with a smile, a receiving, necessary

an option i can give to the next devil and the next devil, all these versions of myself,

my past, that needed just a little more love, at 5, at 12, at 17, at 23, at whatever age arrives 


in need of love

so that i can receive the person ‘outside’ myself with love, even more love.

so i sit.

rumble round. find comfort until discomfort finds me. within. without.

and stay with it…..be with it….let the magic happen, uncontrolled 

uncontrollable by me


and the world spins more rhythmically, harmonically  

with the universal spin,

no longer traipsing so wildly on a wobbled axis

when i find my own self — all of me, no matter what bad things that 5 year old did

 — and soften with the dance…


Brian Shircliff