Was I procrastinating when I put my plans aside for work I’d meant to do today and then simply let them slide?
I thought I must be lazy when the housework stayed undone while I lounged within my garden where the birds were having fun.
Thought perhaps I was depressed as these modes imbued my life, diverting me from my schedules so that clutter became rife.
Yes, I’d suffered sadness for so many recent years, with major aches of rattled gut and overflows of salty tears.
It wasn’t that ludicrous to analyze myself so, to say that grief had stopped me up and diverted all the flow.
One day, soaked in memories of times ne’er to come again, it struck me that I’d accepted loss and no longer felt much pain.
Within that reminiscence, I acknowledged the work load that had seen me love, in passing, while work agendas overrode.
I did give hugs and kisses, said ‘I love you’ many times, but these expressed as brief asides, so my love did not ring chimes.
I thought I gave good service. I thought I gave needed care. I was the facilitator. The truth was, I wasn’t ‘there’.
Got upset at disrespect and got perplexed by coldness; was rattled to my very core when cut from them with boldness.
The future proved uncertain. My bright dreams became manure as all I had planned and worked for suddenly became unsure.
Too late to count my blessings, time flooded wrinkles on my face. Caught up too much in past stressing, I had missed the interface.
Done my best to help, I’d thought, and e’en sacrificed my life to serving family and friends through their many times of strife.
Yet all they’d really wanted was a piece of ‘inner me’. I’d been so caught up in service that I failed to really ‘see’.
Today I sit and ponder as I listen to bird song and feel sweet breezes touch my face, and know my heart’s beating strong.
I see dust on furniture. I see work sitting idle but, truth to tell, I’ve things in hand. Epona’s in a bridle.
My life tide is running out but fully in each second I’m soaking up it’s sweet elan wherever it has beckoned.
I look flowers in the face. I listen to leaves rustling. I let deep silence soak my bones as Nature does her bustling.
Lost so much I thought would last until the end of my days but have gained a reconnection that so lifts my heart with praise.
So, no, I am not depressed and not procrastinating. Instead, I’ve found the bliss in life my spirit’s been awaiting.
(Original poetry by L.O.Hennig – today rebirthed as Oli Zing. Copyright 2016, )