To my old friend: Busyness

I was busy as long as I could remember

Every week had an event, and then daily things to account for

Meetings, dinners, parties, gatherings, food, meals, coffee.

Parking, driving,  i’m on my way, running late, and sometimes too early

Busyness, I wear you like a warm sweater that I knit in my childhood.

you protect me from feelings, memories and addressing the things I should

Time, I hate running out of you, I hate having too much of you.

I want the picture perfect experience of not too fast or slow,  everything a golden hue

Like the slow motion,  montage moments of laughter and glee.

However, now, all hell hath frozen over and the abyss of endless time lies before me,

the to-do list has turned into a to-don’t list to protect society,

lingering between these four walls produces mounts of anxiety,

the uncertainty, the unknown, the prison sentence with no set release

Maybe as I sit in the uneasiness, the desire to run will soon cease,

Perhaps this sweater of busyness was supposed to unravel,

with nothing to produce, and nothing to prove, I  await the guilty senence from the gavel

I hear no sound except my slowing heartbeat, as I practice the discipline of just ‘being.’

My chin is lifted up with rough but gentle hands, His gaze is beaming

He picks up my old sweater, now a pile of yarn, and said “Follow me,

Turn away from the  idols of busyness and productivity,

My yolk is easy and my burden is light.”

 

 

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