Quieting the Thieves
Poetry by Mark Nepo for The Huffington Post
Jul 16, 2012
The Huffington Post
By, Mark Nepo
07/09/2012
We all struggle with making lists and being plagued by them, with getting somewhere and being here, with doing and being. It's like rowing in a lake, all that effort to simply glide in the quiet. And after a while, we need to row some more. I arrived in this moment in the middle of a busy day.
Today I am sad, or so I thought. But more I am tired of keeping up with all that doesn't matter. I'm sipping coffee, listening to rain. I like watching the leaves hang in long weather. I like to close my eyes and feel the rain quiet the earth. I welcome that quieting. I like to have my habits of going here and there interrupted. I was caught in the rain when coming here. The cool blotches sink in all over. The many lists I carry in my shirt are wet. I take them out to dry and all the tasks have blurred. At last. Unreadable. Forgettable. We carry these lists near our heart and finger them like worry beads. It doesn't matter what is on them. They are the thieves, and it is the insidious virtue to have everything in order before we live that is the greatest thief. I feel the rain drip down my neck. I think I'm becoming unfinished.
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Jul 16, 2012
The Huffington Post
By, Mark Nepo
07/09/2012
We all struggle with making lists and being plagued by them, with getting somewhere and being here, with doing and being. It's like rowing in a lake, all that effort to simply glide in the quiet. And after a while, we need to row some more. I arrived in this moment in the middle of a busy day.
Today I am sad, or so I thought. But more I am tired of keeping up with all that doesn't matter. I'm sipping coffee, listening to rain. I like watching the leaves hang in long weather. I like to close my eyes and feel the rain quiet the earth. I welcome that quieting. I like to have my habits of going here and there interrupted. I was caught in the rain when coming here. The cool blotches sink in all over. The many lists I carry in my shirt are wet. I take them out to dry and all the tasks have blurred. At last. Unreadable. Forgettable. We carry these lists near our heart and finger them like worry beads. It doesn't matter what is on them. They are the thieves, and it is the insidious virtue to have everything in order before we live that is the greatest thief. I feel the rain drip down my neck. I think I'm becoming unfinished.
Read More