Between Rooms

Entering a room,
I’m greeted cheerfully,
And sleepily received.

Sunglasses off, canteen set down,
I’m freedom embodied in habit.
Of non-thought, and peace tied to place.

Between rooms,
I carry the excitement,
And contentment, with untold reservoirs of spirit.

Creativity.
Imagination.
Transcendence.

Of mindset, and renewal.
Of baggage, and arrival.
What is set down is not always physical.
What is lost is not always needed.
What I’m carrying is lightweight, but has force.

The gravity pulls,
And sticks, and pulls,
And locks.

What repels is outside our bubble,
Our domain.
We’ve created a home.
Between rooms.

Between rooms, I’m free.
Between rooms, I play.
I listen, and laugh.
I’m here, and I’m working.
But I’m free, and I’m happy.

Channeling breath,
I breathe. I listen.
I give and I receive.

What I’m noticing is wordless.
It’s contentment wrapped in feeling.

But then, words are applied to symbolism.
In song, in celebration, in honoring humanity.
In sounds, in smiles, in disagreement, in conflict.

In form, in wisdom, in acceptance, and quality.
In serendipity, and openness.
In here.

Between rooms, we pass.
We do.
We are.