(S)he says that (s)he has moments
when (s)he completely inhabits the self. Moments when (s)he feels complete.
When an inspirational song comes
on the radio and (s)he is dancing
around the kitchen, arms and voice raised
high. Spirit raised higher.
Moments on the trail/the bike/the mat/the cushion/
when breath and body connect and become one.
When the head and heart meld together.
Moments when it all aligns.
Purely present moments that transcend ego.
Where one-pointed focus leads to universal expansion.
Deep awareness, deep connection, deep sense of purpose.

But, (s)he says,
those moments are fewer
and farther between. Those moments
are less and less.
And more and more now,
(s)he feels like a character, in a movie.
That person who is sitting still, in a room
while the light moves.
While the sun slides across the walls, and the floor. While the days turn to nights
as time passes in lapse speed.
That person who is there, immobile. While everything else changes.
While the world goes on.

Even out in the world, (s)he says,
while (s)he is moving along through the days,
while (s)he is keeping time with the sun,
(s)he isn’t actually there.
(S)he is still sitting still in that space.
(S)he is all alone in the room of light and shadow,
pretending to be of the world.
(S)he isn’t really there, in the world.
(S)he isn’t really there at all. (S)he isn’t real any more.

(S)he wonders,
if I know
what she means?