Why so hard to create space?
Either I fill it, or
Someone else does.
Then again, I don’t have the power
To create space.
Such arrogance!
It is already created!
It is already there!
I’m just part of the panicking mob
Desperate to fill it.
Why am I so uncomfortable
With space?
With quiet?
With stillness?
Maybe because it’s misnamed?
It conveys
An emptiness
A stagnation
A lack
When actually it is
Vibrant
Lifethrobbing
Deeply nourishing.
Waiting to hydrate
My desperate thirst.
Why do I repeatedly
Snatch that from myself?
Depriving myself
Unkindly?
The stage is ceaselessly set:
The space already is
I already am.
Stop trying to fill the space
Stop trying
Stop
Just be as I am
In this space
This holy space
Wholly
I am.