By Shiloh Sophia
Those who are obsessed with silence
Will find their days filled with incessant noise
When we can hear the symphony in chaos
The fugue of existence will invite us to be one of the players
Those who are obsessed with perfection and order
Will be hard pressed to collaborate with anyone
Especially the wildly expressed who may not have order as a value
Let those who desire order, and those who are in chaos, dance
Those who are obsessed with their self image
Will find envy at every turn, and friendships will be challenged
Lovers will grow tired of reassurance and it will be difficult
To ever be enough, without choosing to be enough, as we are
Those who are obsessed with ceaseless self medicating
Will find ordinary reality a bore, or worse, a battle to be fought
There are many reasons to alter reality, beyond that of coping
May we learn to discover pleasure where it lives, in presence
Those obsessed with making everything on purpose
Will be so busy turning mistake and disaster into karmic stories
We will likely miss the wolf at the door and the boiled frog
Can we see what there is, without making it a game of blame?
Those obsessed with saving others are often the quizzical cases
Hiding behind the desire to cure, judgement may be lurking
Unbeknownst to ourselves, we have been inflicting ideas on another
When we can love without the desire to convert, true friendship arises
Those who are obsessed with living to the fullest
May find we are disappointed with the mediocrity of laundry
All the mundane tasks are seen as prevention from being
When the fullest-ness available, is to inhabit being – or is it?
Those who are obsessed with thinking we are in a battle
Will find the time to sharpen our sword has passed
The over-vigilance, while needed, wearies even the warrior
May we sharpen for the work at hand, and soften for love making
Those who are obsessed with dying a certain way
May find themselves surprised when things do not go as planned
Once again the great mystery throws another loop in her knitting
Every death story will be different than the one you need to tell
Those who are obsessed with control, and yet are good at it,
Will be challenged again and again by failure and frailty
Until suffering from unplanned outcomes alchemizes our direction
We hope our practice, at least, has forged us into a strong guide
Those who are obsessed with getting to another place, like heaven
Will find we spend too much time fearing another place, like hell
When all the while the people on the streets are sitting in circle singing,
We missed it, because we wanted so much to be anywhere but here
Those who are obsessed with the healing journey
Will find there is indeed always something to heal
When, if ever, will it be time to leap from the healing journey?
Declare it is enough, we are healed enough for a new story
Those who are obsessed with the opiate of poetry
Will take strange comfort in narrating the terrors of our times
Words will shake us from slumber to wield the pen, or else
As if it is the most important moment of our lives, it might be
It might be, that simply showing up for the conversation
is enough for this life, this day, this minute, this very second
The spell of being – being broken open in praise gives us a chance
To experience being human and glory is unveiled in us
Those who are obsessed with the light
Will find themselves dodging shadows as if they are predators
Those who are overly obsessed with shadows
Will find there are many of us sitting beside you holding the light
Those who are obsessed with sensitivity, protection, shielding
Will find little comfort in the separation from this current crisis
We feel it all anyway, and in our resistance become cloaked
Does it matter if it is crisis or paradise ~ if we are made for this time?
Those who support systems that condemn justice for all
That rationalize the privatization of water and food and medicine
Are hard to love, for those of us who value our life here on earth
May we be brave enough to risk new friendships across the line
When those who are obsessed with blaming
Can forgive ourselves, and everyone, including the Creator
Who we have been quietly blaming all along for this plan gone awry
Then we can wake up to serve in the crisis happening in our neighborhood
Those who are obsessed with avoiding the suffering of others
Will find the suffering everywhere an impossible barrier to joy
When we know that the paradox is the supple threshold of ecstasy
Then we can hang on, and let go at the same time and be free
Those who are obsessed with calling circles for everything Will find we are very busy in these last days dishing up meaning Breaking bread and pouring out the wine, while singing new and old songs May praise be found on our lips for all the goodness we have shared And if in the end we rage instead of surrender, so be it as long as we show up for that experience And if in the beginning we find ourselves where we started and know it newly, so be it Let’s not save our lives, let’s live them When we find the thing we would do if we had forever Is in harmony with the thing we would do, if we had only one day left Then we have arrived, and we will be welcomed home