You are the sky.
All else
is the weather. —Pema Chodron
I
am
the sky. I’ve spent hours being with Chodron’s words. I am the sky, ever-present, perhaps eternal, perhaps nothing more than my understanding of the sky. The sky is blue. The sky is cloudy. The sky is brilliant with sun. The sky is obsidian. The sky holds stars like diamonds.
All else. All else contained within and outside the fragile package of my skin. All else within: loving my fingers moving over the computer keys; not knowing what words will come next; feeling sad as I think about my old friend Mark no longer here; feeling love for his partner – also my friend; feeling guilty for the vast quantities of ice cream I’ve been eating in order to not feel – not feel fear, not feel fury with how we humans are destroying our home planet, not feel what I feel when I know that clicking on the internet changes nothing. All else outside. All. Molecules in a mad and ordered dance. Always moving.
Is
the weather. Monsoons are coming. A brilliant noon will go gray, then black. We will be eaten by the rain. Then released. I am the sky. You are the sky. In the instant that you finish reading this message, you have one choice: to write – or not.
This week’s prompt: Give yourself a half hour of uninterrupted time. Set a timer. That way you don’t have to think about the time. Begin: I am the sky…
Please send us your writing. I’ll publish it next week. ms
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