There are moments when I wonder if I’ve missed something, dropped an important bauble, and now its gone forever. I can’t begin to number the times I’ve walked out of a room only to forget what was so urgent. It is that imperative to leave that evaporates. Nothing seems so important anymore. Life is lazy. The water flows. The air gently brushes past me. There is no rushing, no doing, no hurry. It is almost as if time has slowed. The heart slows, the thoughts become languid. Perhaps this is a preparation for the inevitable aging followed by death. I remember anesthetic induction. It was the heaviness of the tongue, the wooden muscles, that indicated that I was slipping into a state of unconsciousness. The world slowed and then stopped. Unlike death, I opened my eyes and resumed living and doing and rushing. Is aging a grace? Is this deceleration a preparation and a gift? We spend so much time in acquisition of things that we fail to recognize the gifts we have been freely given. It must be a human failing that we dismiss those things that are free. Free is the same as worthless in many minds. But what if, the free things are the important ones. The graces, the loves, the assistance, the leading us out of danger, the saving, the mercies, the caring and comfort, are worth more than we imagine. What if we are designed to slow down? What if the slowing is to allow us to appreciate all the things we were too busy to see? What if I have missed it all?
So this is a prose poem. I never thought I’d enjoy writing a poem that doesn’t really have any rules or parameters to follow. Some folks suggest that it isn’t poetry. Some others insist it is.