Until we turn and face what we've spent our whole lives avoiding,
what are we really doing with our lives?
Practice is not some pretty thing we do just on a meditation cushion.
Until we learn to observe ourselves objectively,
we will remain prisoners of our substitute life.

By ?

Arlu sat in the easy chair by the fire,
legs crossed and draped over the arm,
head tilted to see Tuco's face as she talked.

"So, what's up?" she asked.
Tuco stirred his coffee - black, no cream, no sugar.
He glanced up, thinking that was his question to ask.
"Enjoying the brisk winter wind across the desert." he replied.

She studied him,
the age beginning to show in his face
and wondered what he thought looking at her
after all these years.
Was she still beautiful in his eyes?

"And you?" he asked.

Arlu sipped her coffee - a little cream, no sugar.
He'd always made strong coffee.
"I did a photo shoot in Alaska,
melting graciers and cracking sea ice."
She paused, then, looking at him,
"I'm headed to Chile now,
same shoot series.
Helping an environmental group
document changes."

She watched his expression
a slight change,
a softening.
He glanced up
and watched her
shift her gaze,
a slight change
in expression.

It's hard to accept, sometimes,
that larger forces hold the heart
more than you can.
But, he thought, if we don't accept what is
we remain prisoners of our substitute life.

Tuco finished his coffee,
got up
and turned to get more.
Arlu saw the flicker of hurt
and wondered
if he was ready
for what little she could offer.

When he sat down again, she began.
"You know, there's a spot for you on these trips
if you want to help."
She watched the clouds form and fade across his face.

The sun peeked out when he said,
"Let me think about it again.
Then I'll have questions.
We can talk it out."