i am here. i am listening

I’m back by the field near the hut. My spot by the riverbank is on the other side, and I feel a tug of longing, like I’d rather be there instead. As if it will offer me more peace. But I don’t know that for certain.

Remove the words, I say to myself. Stay here right now.

The breeze is at my back. The grass is only about calf height. I lean down to run my palms over the tops of its blades, doubtful that the boy is here anymore.

I won’t find him.

I am here. I am listening. Whoever wants to join me, I am ready.

A figure in white floats above the grass, undulating, horizontal esses. 

Who are you?

I ask too soon. The figure continues to swirl and curve.

I thought I was open, but I’m looking for comfort.

I confess that in case it helps not to hold anything back.

The white mist trails through the grass, around my legs. It doesn’t swerve to avoid me. I’m standing in an earthbound cloud.

I’m not sure this whiteness is a sentient being.

An admission to the air or whatever is rushing past my feet: I hate visiting here with the mind I have. I hate being ill-equipped and making mistakes and mistranslating. I don’t have any special skills that suit me to this. I wish I did.

As usual, I’m the one talking.

Remove the words.

Not in the sense of swallowing my fears and doubts, but in the spirit of remaining teachable. I cannot learn with my mouth open as much as it is.

The mist has settled over the water. It obscures the view across the way.

Then, the earthbound cloud melts like cotton candy into a cup of tea. Once again, the water is clear and so is the view.

I am here, I think, unwilling to break the silence. I am listening.

An idea floats into my consciousness. 

Maybe it’s I am Here. I am Listening.

I am Here. I am Listening.

The relief spreads through my chest. 

I am Here.

I am Listening.