I run
Not because I need the exercise
(Although, of course, I know I do)
I run instead to think of you
In solitude.

Too many times during the day
You pierce the turbulent surface of my consciousness
Rising nearly half out of the water sometimes.
Trying to gasp a breath of air, I guess
Or give me a breath, perhaps.
A breath I need and want, but cannot take.
I must put you down
I must push you back
Into that black realm of nothingness.

For duty’s silent siren calls me
Pulls me in a current I can barely tread.
For a solid gold anchor on a gossamer thread
I am drowning myself in a too-rough sea
Of much too much responsibility.

And then I run.
I run from all the troubles in my life
And dive into my inner self
And find you there
Waiting patiently
For me.

Holding you close one moment in time
We rise to the surface at last to find
It isn’t deep at all
Here
In the backwater solitude
Of my mind.

This is a poem I wrote about 20 years ago…before I knew anything about mindfulness. At the time, I was a wanna-be runner training for the New York City marathon. I tried many different things to help distract myself from the pain and drudgery of the run, including memorizing many poems, and writing a few…including this one. So, in a way, “Backwater Solitude” is an anti-mindful poem as it deals with the mental gymnastics that we all put ourselves through every day, instead of just enjoying the moment, whatever the moment is.