Oh, my soul, why are you disquieted within me?

The morning was rainy and cool. I lit the familiar cigarette.
If you gave half a tinker’s damn I’d be more patient, but no.
I like the smell of animals and the rain falling on my face.
I like baseball and family gatherings – all that wholesome stuff.
I like my cat’s soft nose, so much like velvet but better, moist.
I like being at peace with the ghosts, their empty eyes and
soft voices which murmur like mourning doves in the night.

Why are you cast down, O my soul?

The morning was chilly. I awakened to a world laced with frost.
The bumblebees didn’t wake up, even when the sun came out.
I prayed for them but it didn’t work. It’s just too cold.
The sadness overwhelms me; “It is the natural order of things,”
I tell myself, but it really doesn’t help because I see myself,
dying there like one of the bees except conscious and knowing.
Tomorrow when we rise only the warm-blooded will still be alive.

Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers have swept over me.

The crisp, frozen morning was painful and I called a doctor.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me except that I hurt all over.
I will never grow accustomed to mysterious pain, no matter the form.
The bumblebees are dead on the sage. Unspeakable pain…
“…all your waves and breakers have swept over me.” and I can hear
nothing in the roar of your waterfalls – I might as well be alone.
Just tell me how to make it stop. That’s all I really want to know.

Why are you cast down, O my soul?
And why are you disquieted within me?

The morning was springtime warm, and I thought it would rain.
Something was so very different; something had changed.
I rose before dawn, very early, and watched the sky begin to glow.
The dreams were still wrapped around me in thick, heavy flows.
I wished a blessing into the coffee steaming and the cat, still dreaming.
Life began again, as it always does, careless and messy.
The nervous clouds moved before the sun restlessly.

Syd Weedon
11/6/2023