How many times
Can I watch the moon set at sunrise
While driving this same stretch of highway
To teach the same yoga asana postures
To the same types of people
In the same rooms
And ride the same trails
On the same mountains
And sleep with the same man
In the same bed
In the same house
In the same town
Before it loses it’s novelty
And becomes rote?
These are the questions
I used to contemplate
As I hastily sped to work
At 6:30 in the morning
Praying I wouldn’t be late.
Sometimes
I noticed the subtleties of the sunrise.
And that the moon was never in the same place.
And neither was I.
Awakenings
Come slow and steady
Like the sunrise
Until sometimes
With a flash
Everything is illuminated
Revealing what you couldn’t see before
In crisp vibrant clarity.
Now I leave early
In wonder
Of where the light will first crest the horizon
In awe
Of the hue that ridges the mountaintops
And defines the boundary
Between earth
And sky.
It is never the same.
Nor are the asanas
Or the people I share them with.
Even the rooms have changed.
The consistency and texture of the snow is always variable
The landscape shifts with the blow of the wind.
I can taste the humidity
And smell the storm in the distance.
Sometimes we we skate on the lake
And sometimes
We swim.
The eccentricities of each encounter.
Even when it looks the same
The nuances distinct.
The novelty
The consistent everchanging
Subtleties
Never knowing
Until maybe
When I’m in it.
Every moment a transition
And always
Right now.
Noticing.
Being.
Always interesting.
I mostly sleep alone now
In my own house
Or my own car
Or on couches
Or in the bed of the forest
As I drive this same stretch of highway
It has never become boring
And it has never
Been
The same.
deniseporterkemp 