sunday afternoonin'

there's something therapeutic about going through a container of lentils,
looking for a baby twig,
a stone,
a lentil-dweller,
or
just old lentils.

it's an important ritual.

something to bring me back here, to right now, to right Here, to STOP and really, to just s-t-o-p.

so that i listen.
so that i watch.
so that i think.
so that i wait to feel.

it's hard coming back from Home to home. it's hard coming back here to know that i'm leaving for yet another home.

lately, i've found myself wanting to write, but not doing it.
scared that as i type each word, i will make it real, and concrete.
i will give it life and a separate entity.
and all those words will form a mutiny, and rise up in a 17-foot surging crest to crash upon
me

but hand-picking through a plate of lentils on a sunday afternoon,
pre-nepali-dinner,
post swim,
in front of a fan (on number 1),
drinking iced coffee,
watching the sky turn a wavy orangepink from my 2-foot-square verandah,
hmmm,
there's nothing scary about That.