How is your life?

Do I spend too much time in evaluation?
"How is your life?," I wonder.

"I'm alive," is my first thought.
But, really, how is my life?
Is there a gauge of usefulness,
of joy, of value?

Aloneness is often the theme,
though that may not address the how.
I am literally not alone
and rarely in my life have been.

An only child certainly has her
blankets of aloneness,
wrapping peacefully the moments
only she can savor.
Or not quite fitting around her
growing, awkward body as the
years of wear tatter its
comfort-ability.

In my sense of humanness
the aloneness felt more vast
than that.

I knew - experienced - an
All That Is, as an extension of me...
or was it in spite of me?
And/or it somehow was me.

Only me.
As self, as God, as Universe
with all else reflections in a
fun house of actions and choices.

So, yeah... that seems to be the
nucleus of the how.

Me. My life.

Now on an illusionary adventure of
ego and self and humanness
ever unfolding in paradox.
As if I don't know or remember the truth.
But, alas, I fool myself that
truth is real... or matters.

So I write. I explore.
I ask, "How is your life?"

And I find the emptiness of answers
and feel into my heart.
Joy.
Simple, unobtrusive,
finely woven into the
fabric of my being.

It misses no-thing. But I experience
it best in my heart.
Where pain also resides.

But the two are actually one, if I
allow the joy to blanket
that pain, with all her fullness
and quiet wisdom.

She will never tatter, not if I
remember to notice.
Witnessing restores her
luster and fullness.
​
Maybe that's the answer to,
"How is your life?"...
a witnessing that restores
luster and fullness.

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