I have been having one of those months where I race from appointment to appointment, in between work and sleep. I know that most people spend their December this way, but it's unusual for me.
My hectic schedule reminds me of an earlier time in my life, when I drove across 3 counties, from adjunct job to adjunct job. After I taught a session on Julian of Norwich, I sat in the car, yearning for contemplation, and wondering what a modern anchoress would look like. And thus, emerged this poem (which later appeared in my chapbook):
My Habit, My Hairshirt
A modern day anchoress, I commit
myself to my car. In my moving cell,
I sing constantly and pray without ceasing.
I dedicate myself to our modern religion
of hectic pace. I rush from one location to another,
showing my devotion in twelve hour increments.
No time for contemplation, the anathema
to the modern ascetic. I flog
myself with my cell phone and briefcase.
Occasionally, a heretical urge lures
me, a siren song urging me to slow down,
tempting me to tame my frantic schedule.
But no Gnostic visions for me. I race
through another week in the grip of my Daytimer,
my habit, my hairshirt.
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