so, I swap fomo for slow-mo. | a poem

I do not agree with fomo

(though of course I often felt it),

what with fomo resting on the

notion at the heart of

All That

Hurts: the notion that one is a-

bove another, worthier of

presence; being been with, being

lived and being loved

— Of Being.

what could fill with

more amazement

than the movement of this very

heart? the flowing of this very

blood? this body being travelled

by this breath? now this

one? this? now,

fomo is a cultured thing, and

as such deeply intertwined with

all those deeply intertwining

other fears and shames

and pains, these

fears and shames and

pains we learned so

well. enough of it, I say. I

want to live here, To Be Living

where I am, and cherish all the

wonders I am full

of, wonders

I am gifted on an on. the

infinitely intricate mi-

raculously modest workings

of the world that is

this body

here, in my care

in this moment

(in relation to the world at

large, at that). We Can Live all the

Life there is to live, the Love there

is to love right where

we are, right?

(how, if not thus, is life lived at

all?) what is the point in wishing

ourselves to be somewhere else at

all times? what does

that mean at the

core? where does it

lead us? leave us?

— so, I swap fomo for slow-mo,

giving up the unrelenting

resenting certain sensations

for a bit of sacred

patience.

practicing to welcome and in-

vite whoever comes (whether they're

knocking or hiding in bushes,

half-hoping not to

be noticed)

and to wonder,

and to soothe.

to embrace each dear encounter

(which includes The Fear Of Missing

Out). to simply be with them. to

not expect a single

thing to

happen. nothing to occur, im-

prove, be any different than it

is, or was. nothing to prove. sim-

ply to wonder, and to soothe.

just to wonder,

and to soothe.

~

PS: also, what is it that we are

supposed to be missing when

suggestedly missing out?

— I consider missing out on

embodiedness, on presence;

Being With and Being Here

(equaling anywhere at all)

the real missing out.