Anxiety

In sleeping bag.
Pen in hand.
Anxiety floats
of social connection...
Sneaky constructs
of dissatisfaction.
For Now is Here
and Here is Now.
Mind races to fetch
those with whom to share this
whose attention might provide
the hot-water feeling
of approval.
So I ask:
What am I afraid of?
That I'm not with someone tonight?
That people don't *want* to be with me tonight?
That unaccompanied moments are wasted?
That interrupted outreaches crumble and rot?
That I'm not admired?
Paired company fluctuates,
and I am always with myself, here.
The wants of others
shift with thier own rhythm.
tying myself to them
is like leashing myself to as
many wild horses
Solitude, I've experienced
beautiful, sublime.
And no effort is wasted.
Interruption of attempts occur
at times. Tying myself to
the results of my actions is
tying myself to a rock I throw
each moment. Some might fly high, and
some might sink to the bottom of the ocean.
Others' admiration shifts with themselves.
Knowing myself may balance.
Balance.
That I have no purpose?
Delight in the Now.
Each will translates into the World
and dances.
May each of us Find each of us
within. Tonight, for me, alone.