Fever Speaks

I woke up weak and feeling lowly today, after fighting off some germy demon in my sleep. Vivid dreams and construction noise confounded to rouse me from my stupor. Not yet a fully fledged cold, but I could feel the workings of my white blood cells as my immune system kicked in and kicked  my butt.  As I lay there, I felt the weight of vulnerability press upon me.  Everything feels tender when I am not well – I am fragile and slow.  My usual zest for life takes a holiday and I breathe, in stillness, in respect, in surrender to whatever it is that ails me.

In these slow motion moments of nothingness, I feel my connection to the universe.  The entire world skips, honks, works and flies right by me. I am useless and yet somehow still a part of this extraordinary world.  Having nothing to contribute on such a droopy day, I simply lie still, contemplating the noises I hear, considering the thoughts that slide from the ether, soaking in the beauty of Life as it goes on without me.  I shrink to a smallness that feels infinitesimal and whisper my thanks for the blessing that is my life.

I always come through an illness feeling cleansed or purged, stronger and more powerful, with a deep and genuine knowing of my very own will to survive.  This gets me thinking about the places within us that are vulnerable and how perhaps we should celebrate them instead of hiding them under mounds of armor and foolish pride.  The poem below was written on one such afternoon, when I just had to lie down and let my body heal…

She sleeps

She sleeps

in fetal pose.
I trace the curve
of her hip with my finger,
that pocket of Divinity
where complete surrender
resides.
I could take her hip bone with me as I go.
There is no need.
For I know that she would give it me
if asked.

©2012 DOS

The excerpts of all of the poems presented in this blog are copyright protected, as each and every poem has been copyrighted.   For a complete copy of any poem, feel free to email your request to: duvallosteennyc@gmail.com.