even in paradise
Even in paradise, the demons appear.
I am writing this enveloped in the cushions of a lanai chair,
silently fretting about love. Inside, a friend is pushing her body faster
through a workout video, displeased with her persistent inches. Another
is flagellating herself for not devoting enough time to creativity.
Here, with nothing to do but rest, we do our best to seize the opportunity,
but the gentle palms and blissed-out sea are less parable than tease.
It is hard to sit still, stay neutral, expunge our own worst self-made enemies.
But perhaps we're here to feel the burn, confront our private bruise and batter,
and see each criticism for its truth: distracting, needless, idle chatter.