Don't Leave Me Raw

It’s a dance isn’t it, between opening and closing. I’ve had tastes of how it tastes to be cooked. Sweet, tender blissful times, but I don’t sustain them. I adhere to my practices, maintain trust and faith, outwardly look like I’m simmering away, cooking gently. But inwardly, the fire is but a few struggling embers and there is a stress with this a disquiet. Much the same as any stress, an underlying sense that something is wrong and with it a deep sadness at the alienation from the connectedness with the comfort of a glowing fire. So I breathe deep, bellowing into the dying embers. The next breath or the next, the fire may leap into life and the dance take a merry turn.