Loving Attention — by Leah Pearlman
Posted: Thu Nov 12, 2020 7:02 pm
Loving Attention — by Leah Pearlman
There’s only one thing I’ve ever found
To fill the hole inside.
Money won’t do the job
And a job is not enough.
Looking good just covers up
The deeper painful stuff.
Approval from outside won’t do,
Pride only last so long.
Soon the hole is back again
As deep and just as strong.
Accomplishments won’t fill it
Nor any trophies won.
Generosity is not enough
Or many good deeds done.
No published books will satisfy
Nor any prized position.
No starring role can fill that hole
No realized ambition.
Projects never fill it
Or taking lots of trips
Snacking sure won’t fill that hole
Except with lots of chips.
The only thing that’s worked for me
To ease my apprehension
Is bravely turning inward
And giving it attention.
How black is that hole?
How cavernous, how deep?
How big around, how loud the sound?
How merciless, how bleak?
What words are in that hole?
Are they righteous, harsh or cruel?
Do they tell you you’re a failure?
Do they say that you’re a fool?
What emotions are inside?
Anger? Hate? Or Blame?
Or is the hole made wholly of
Embarrassment and shame?
In mine I often find
deep and dark despair.
Sometimes humiliation
And confusion hide in there.
It hasn’t gone away for me
At least it hasn’t yet.
But as I rest attention there
The less concerned I get.
Because what is really in that hole?
Some darkness from above?
I’ve only ever found myself
craving my own love.
There’s only one thing I’ve ever found
To fill the hole inside.
Money won’t do the job
And a job is not enough.
Looking good just covers up
The deeper painful stuff.
Approval from outside won’t do,
Pride only last so long.
Soon the hole is back again
As deep and just as strong.
Accomplishments won’t fill it
Nor any trophies won.
Generosity is not enough
Or many good deeds done.
No published books will satisfy
Nor any prized position.
No starring role can fill that hole
No realized ambition.
Projects never fill it
Or taking lots of trips
Snacking sure won’t fill that hole
Except with lots of chips.
The only thing that’s worked for me
To ease my apprehension
Is bravely turning inward
And giving it attention.
How black is that hole?
How cavernous, how deep?
How big around, how loud the sound?
How merciless, how bleak?
What words are in that hole?
Are they righteous, harsh or cruel?
Do they tell you you’re a failure?
Do they say that you’re a fool?
What emotions are inside?
Anger? Hate? Or Blame?
Or is the hole made wholly of
Embarrassment and shame?
In mine I often find
deep and dark despair.
Sometimes humiliation
And confusion hide in there.
It hasn’t gone away for me
At least it hasn’t yet.
But as I rest attention there
The less concerned I get.
Because what is really in that hole?
Some darkness from above?
I’ve only ever found myself
craving my own love.
