Poems From The Porch
It’s Easier to Float
The moon is out tonight, and the sky reveals a star. I turned my chair to see the red glow of the sunset. The air is not yet still after last night’s hurricane, but it feels different.
I think about how nothing else matters but recovery for those who were dealt a lasting blow. This is the place where “Why me?” arises in the forms of, “Why was I so blessed?” or, “Why was I so cursed?”
But these are self-centered questions. Hurricanes are not personally-targeted events. Sometimes it just feels like it because we subconsciously believe that we deserve punishment or pridefully think we merit reward. I guess it is just part of the human struggle for meaning.
Sitting on the porch and rocking in my chair, I’m no longer anticipating debris, and I don’t feel self-satisfied that I escaped harm.
No. No, really; life is not personal. Rather, it is a flow that I can join or rebel against.
It’s easier to float than to fight the current. I rather be held and supported than restrained by my own struggle.