It doesn't really matter. 
None of it.
You're just passing though.

It can't really hurt you.
None of it.
You're just passing through.

You're not really under it.
And you don't have to get over it.
None of it.
You're just passing through.

You can look for it
But you won't really find it
Because you don't really need it.
None of it.
You're just passing through.

You could hold it.
Some of it.
But you'll never quite have it. 
None of it.
And it doesn't really matter. 
Because you're just passing though.

What if the hokey pokey is what it's all about?

I walk to arrive.
I stand for a cause.
I fight for justice.
I speak to connect, listen to learn and smile to befriend. 

Every move has a purpose that gives my mind comfort. 
We are living well, says the mind,
We have goals. We've made progress.
But what of the breath?
That lovely, involuntary action that slips so gracefully past my mind 20,000 times a day.
What do I breathe for?
To oxidize the blood, yes.
But is there another intention of the breath? Another goal?
Surely that steady give and receive must have more meaning.
When I close my eyes and breathe, am I expanding my mind?
Am I sustaining an inner peace?
Am I acquiring unforeseen knowledge?
Am I losing unwarranted fears?
Am I connecting more deeply with my heart?

Inhale.

Exhale.

Perhaps the breath is not for gain, not for loss.
Not for progress or cause.
Quite wisely not for any of those things at all.
I sense that each breath wishes not to change a thing. 
Desires not to act upon the moment at all, but rather longs to know it more fully, as it is.
Perhaps the breath is the moment.
We acknowledge and become part of the moment by taking in a lovely lung-sized dose of now.
Simply, gracefully, without effort or cause, we breathe to receive our own special little dose of now.  

i have my paintings, pictures and tapestries.
i have such lovely music with speakers that deliver it to every room.
i have an altar and incense, and enough candles to bring their own daylight…
my easel and brushes, guitar and drum…
a kitchen of tools and treats and enough glass and china to serve the masses…
a collection of wisdom in all of my books, and a collection of sleepy smiles in my stock of wine…
a queen’s bed with more pillows than one head will ever need, one of them a body's length to close my eyes and hug…
a couch that's the color perfect with plush pillows and blankets to get lost in while i feast my eyes on a great big TV that displays amazing sights on demand… 
a bath tub i can fill with bubbles and oil, surrounded by flickering candles and outer calm...
my view of the river and tugboats and tree-covered cliffs…

so many things, big and small, subtle and soft, bright and ornate.

when lit by candle light it feels like a sea of a lovely version of me.

go on, take it 
go on
take it from me. 
i would give them all up to truly be with my heart.  

be still, my heart.
i am coming. 

Oh I know her.
I know her well.
The way she thinks. The way she feels.
Her fears.
Her causes.
Her soap boxes to stand on.
Her axes to grind.
Because I am her. Everyday.
And I play the role with precision.
She was written years ago and she's a beloved character ~ my ego is her biggest fan.
But who is this steel little puzzle piece, this 'perfect fit'.
Is she real?
Is she me?
Is she as new as now or is she the me of years ago, the me of yesterday, or even the me of a moment ago?
Is there a newer 'me' ~ one who is closer to my heart?
When did I last check?
Have I ever really checked, or am I too busy reading my lines?
Today, I'll look one layer deeper. 
I will peel back the me of a moment ago and be the me of this moment. 
Try to be the me who is as new as now.