Dharma

Sometimes I feel
a special kind of alone
that is mournfully reminiscent
of a cold and windy
day in December,
on the beach
in Atlantic City.

It arises, oddly enough,
from disappointment
in the behavior
of those whom I love,
who tread a path
of self destruction.

I walk with them
by their side
in support of their
freedom to choose, their
liberty to learn through
their dreadful decisions.

I am with them
buttoned and bundled
against frigid and sharp
bluster of sand-swept wind,
trying to make sense
of the incongruous beauty.

Yet I am alone,
to parry the creations
that are born
of their free will,
unsheltered from the
storm of consequences

So, I scream
in primal release
out toward the ocean,
or into my white knuckled hands,
to release the sadness
and tight-tension reactivity
pelting me from within

And, I come back
to a neutral center, and
forgive them for
not being who
I expected
them to be.