So many

So many little deaths so often

that I call it living.

Any life passage

without heartfelt-ness

is a brutal form of acceptance.

For without emotional passage,

I am shallow breathing my way

through another day.

I get new thoughts

on my out breath pause.

I get conclusions and judgments

on my in breath pause,

and I deep sigh

to get to catch myself

from phasing out over it all.

I really don’t need the eventfulness

even though it plugs me in

to interesting small space highs.

At some point in this process,

being an experience junkie

is like grazing for distraction.

I yearn for emotional participation.

Something on the order of presence

without prompting or provocation.

Something that blurs

the sense of time

and makes me buoyant

moment to moment.

For without this environment,

recognition is a stale box of popcorn

into the movie of my life.