we humans

we run out of room, you know.

we fill ourselves so full as if we are balloons attached to a helium tank

and we take take take,

forgetting that eventually our insides

are biologically,

emotionally,

mentally,

designed to explode.

we can only take so much in before something,

anything,

usually the best things,

get pushed out the top of our toes

or through the pores on our legs

we wish weren’t quite so visible

at such an age.

and before we know it the things we love

and that love us back

are lost somewhere at a bus stop

or left lingering in a pile of apples at the grocery store. we thought filling up was the way to be full.

but it turns out that at our most essential,

we are emptied,

void of self importance, to-do lists and weight loss diets.

the luminosity of emptiness, they call it.

full of light to guide us back to one unshakable notion:

that we aren’t balloons in need of more stuff inside

or more accolades outside

or more knick knacks on the shelf

or even more good deeds to assuage some false sense of inner rot.

we are full because we are connected

you and i, to him and her and them,

to the grass and trees,

and to the bird who whistles from high above

and connects a song to our mere human ears even for one fleeting moment.

we don’t need to fill up.

we are already full.

luminously.

delightfully.

connected

in good company

and full.

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