Will you, just for a moment, treat your deepest pain
like a wisened master, one you would trek far and
pay greatly to hear speak?
The experiment is simple, but here’s the kicker:
your reverence must be authentic.
It is not the way you’d treat a fool
in a king’s crown to make him feel better.
(Nothing against the beloved, and very important,
fool! But let us not make nervous laughter here
and call it acceptance, the blind leading the blind and
pretending
there is nothing to see.)
Just for one moment.
I am young, yes, and it’s true I don’t know
what you know about the way this world unfolds,
about how even a “moment” has long ago become
a tired horse you no longer ride because you know
the water she’ll lead you to.
But do you?
Take a fresh look,
and another,
and let’s together,
now, inquire:
Will you, for even a moment, address your deepest
pain the way you’d address a master who knew,
really knew, the deep secrets of this universe,
of your happiness and sorrows and in an instant
if you dared bring bullshit to the table of truth
and call it gold.
What, dear friend, might you ask? How might you
begin, however cautiously, this conversation? How might
the crushing weight of your own death, impending, smother
you more fully in its infinite, uncontainable quiet?
Weeks may pass while you play pretend,
months and years and always another dish to be
washed before you can meditate upon the smell
of soap and the feel of small bubbles bursting on skin.
And just as you began, years ago with your face
fresh, sweet and wild, born into now as then as never
before, like a hawk circling the night of your heart, like
rain falling in a land very far away, its rivers flooding
your soul from headwaters you’ll never see but know
only by their fruits, this soft breath, here, in your own mouth,
you ask, you taste for the juice, and your beloved
exhale, a flower racing to its death and its opening in the same
gesture, the gesture of your gaze, where it falls now, of
your hands now as they are, your guts breathing as they are, and
your heartmind, finally, hearing its own, sacred voice.
— LB
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dynamicalignmentbodywork.com 
You call that “simple?” Thank you.