I suffer from an embarrassment of riches.
I toil under the labor of an untamed mind.
I wrest my soul from the cosmos each morning,
only to give it back each night,
beaten down by the burden of my own absorption.
I cannot escape the muttering.
I cannot hope for redemption.
It is both my prison, and my way out;
My discipline and my freedom.
I am crawling on my knees in the dark.
I am divorced from the general population.
I distract myself from time to time, a lover here, a dancer there,
But always I return to my front door, alone and in full.
Here I am awaiting myself in the foyer:
I hand myself a jasmine towel and a cup of tea.
I stride directly to my station without a sideways glance,
Passing the lure of bath and incense,
And once again I am confined to my lovely cage,
Head bent to task in thought and supplication,
Reflecting, enraptured, engaged,
And all bequeathed by God’s design.