Working Out

I’m enrolled in a workout class

designed to give me more flexibility

when wielding my tune-in muscle.

I used to think I was weird or wired

differently, stuck in that unyielding

school desk watching the clock’s

agonizing creep. But now I know

anyone can do this. A parent dials

into their child’s frequency

to understand the being of few words

and passionate, overwhelming desires.

We sense into the needs of our pets,

opening to a way of communicating

that feels mysterious, psychic.

Our schools are designed to stamp

out our mystical knowledge. Everyone

must fit into the square pegs, summoned

by bells to march to classrooms.

Slaves to time, unquestioning.

Some of us fell through the cracks,

resisted the molding, shedding it

like snake skin. Reaching into a field

sparkling like dewdrops on a spiderweb

of magnetic aliveness that spans

the globe, we are awake and sitting.

The mystics and the poets will save us

by opening up the clock

to the spaciousness between seconds,

inviting us to abandon the lurid

sitcoms and online distractions

that keep us tied to an agenda

like mice spinning on a wheel.

Change the station, dial in to

the connection we have all been

reaching for, right here, on the other

side of the canned laughter

that keeps you

from listening to now.

Inspired by the Ragtag Daily Prompt: Sitcom