As I began my run this early evening, the beginning of a poem crashed into me:
I went inside to meet the man,
He’d made the bed, the mess, the plan…
I meant to get it down on paper, but I didn’t, so here it is, deposited. I expect it to be about the reunion with a shadow self that’s been busy making mischief by undercutting the higher self’s better interest. I can find myself having to lie in a messy bed made by someone other than my “best self,” but it’s my made bed, and so I lie in it. A conundrum until the light flushes out that shadow.