Not Thirsty
The process only feels like an existential test to the uninitiated.
Every seasoned meditator knows that insights from a recent retreat will make you wince next year. Sometimes it takes less time.
Not Thirsty
Before they become teachers, they’re just succulents simmering in the desert. The small ones who live indoors don’t need much water. The homely brown one doesn’t appear to want any. I wipe muddy streaks from the wall with paper towels before anyone notices. I use the hose outside, and try not to get tangled up in the hills burning across the valley. The only precipitation on the horizon drops from planes. I drizzle indiscriminately. The varieties of thirst scattered around here reveal themselves slowly. On the last day, I offer even fewer drops to the one who taunted me three mornings before. In my rush to redirect the immediate overflow, the prickly friend sitting beside him bites my hand.
no rain on the way
still the smallest succulent
spills over again
You love us so much.🥹