I have a full gas tank, the whole day laid out in front of me. It's sunny, clear, a perfect 60o out. This song comes on the radio, my eyes tear up and I need to shake my head.

'Take these shackles off my feet so I can dance...'

Stop it, Jane. You can go anywhere you want right now. Pour your rage into the gas pedal and drive away. You can leave everything behind, don't look back. Except for yourself; you can never get away from yourself.

'Take these shackles off my feet'
I'm bawling now, pounding the steering wheel with my puny girl fists.

As with all families, I have fallen easily into my set role:
I am the joker, the one most likely to know the offhand fact.
I have the one-liners and a touch of cynicism.
I'm the one to call when that word is on the tip of your tongue, I'll find it for you.
You could call me obnoxious.
You could call me the little sister. You could call me loved.

You could call me and I'd come running, anything to get away.

'Take these shackles off my feet so I can dance.'

ask the Beloved
what next
what is your will
what should I explore

a friend says
are you not worthy of love?

yes, of course
but that does not mean that I feel loved

on with work

ask the Beloved
what next

I sleep deeply
no dreams

I am looking for two books
second hand
and find another text
on Rumi and love

I open it
the ego blocks the Self
the small ego self blocks the Beloved
love is all around us
says Rumi

I relax

I find the envelope
with a check
I am hoping it will cover
my gift to my daughter

ah, it is half what I hoped

no, two checks
it is what I hoped

no, three checks
nearly twice

and oh
next I will take my daughter skiing
and read Rumi
and relax

and suddenly I feel loved
by the Beloved

and the Beloved
is everything
and everyone

the small ego selves
argue and are hurt and love

but I am loved
and you are loved

we are love


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