I am . . . 

 

The one who jumps up and down merrily in the endless tree like that troop of monkeys.

I am the boy who feels held and loved by simply living in the house next to the endless tree.

I am the one who no longer sees the endless tree as it reaches toward the heavens.

I am the one who feels parched and bereft in the dry cave below the world I have known.

I am the one who must now be guided by the elders who once were guided by me.

I am the one who was left behind by my allies wearing the black and tan robes and

are off to their next teaching adventure without me. I was in the green room and 

on the phone speaking to doctors who promised to find the next endless tree.

We don’t know, if indeed, that next tree is endless, but we cling to that hope, and we

live as though it is our birthright to never feel the illness, pain, and grief that simply is.

I am the one who at times, is wise enough to don the tan robe that embraces that 

teaching, but I am also the one who is furious, so often, that I simply cannot find

that tan robe, no matter how hard I search for it.