How about the stop
Where the heart pounds and the breath alternates
In a place that is always still:
A pond that the wind never ruffles
Where the fish move through the motionless
And the dragonflies flit in precise increments
Over a reflection without distortion.

Space is always stopped;
After all, where does it have to go?
Some say it bends for planets and other matters
That know the gravity of its stationary situation.
It seems stopped to me, but what do I know,
But what knows?

Clocks used to stop, but now they run forever, it seems.
Ticking through a now that’s always stuck in time.
Every second they run on a treadmill going nowhere but now.
They could teach a hamster a thing or two.

Mind is stopped too, but it doesn’t seem that way,
Because of all the traffic in it:
Thoughts careening at high speed for pizza.
Emotions tip toeing through feelings about a loud neighbor
Or crawling on their bellies after a lost shaker of salt.
They all stop at some point, though,
And nestle back with Momma Mind.

Of course there is the big stop
Where we never pass go, just pass euphemistically.
It’s strange how fast we run just to stop.
It’s probably what we really want, but don’t like how it’s wrapped.

Well, I have been stopped for some time on this poem,
Trying too hard as usual.
I have to learn to stop that,
If I’m really going to find that which is completely and perfectly stopped.

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