So What Are You Doing Tomorrow?


A life devoted to everyday routines and security concerns eventually becomes too stale and predictable to satisfy the deeper longings of the heart. —John Welwood

Inside the body is another body,

not smaller, not like the Russian dolls,

but much, much, bigger—a frame

vast enough to hold an entire ocean

complete with tides and spiny things

and deep, dark, unfathomable reaches

that never, never see light. Only bigger

than that. Imagine an internal universe

enormous enough to contain luminous supernovae

radiating more energy in three weeks than the sun

will in its whole lifespan. Right now, perhaps,

a stellar explosion bursts inside you, they’re rare,

I know, but but I’ve seen that look in your eyes—

so full of velocity and present light.

There is no other way I know to explain it,

that boundless sense. How we move

through the day, make the toast,

make the bed, all the while expanding

at an ever increasing rate. Take this love,

for instance. Because it has no edges,

there is no center, only an infinite surging,

a continuous reaching and longing to find,

to find what? No end. No end. No end.

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