the spiritual practice of voluntarily staying put
Could you live bricked up
like Julian of Norwich, body leaning
into the wall of the church, receiving
food through a hatch? Certain
there’s nowhere left to go,
no place that calls to you,
no exit needed?
Can you quarantine your self:
escape artist, traveler,
visitor, partier, tourist, movie goer,
tree climber, book worm—
in a space too small for ego,
a space not dark but cozy,
and no mirror except
the one in your mind,
that minds itself
when attention remembers?
Can you wait in that space
until the walls stop closing,
the roof lifts off and
you find yourself, impossibly,
everywhere?
