the morning with my teacher

this morning
i slept in.
it was surrender.
i had nothing left to prove
to the clock
or the myth of becoming.

i sat still
breathed the universe into its shape.
moved the bones
showered
then walked straight into my lineage
dripping and awake.

i hugged him
not the man,
but the child hiding inside him.

“i’m sorry i don’t do this more” i said.
“you’re doing a great job
at being you.”

said it plain
like a man who’d wrestled his gods
and came back not with fire
but a hand open.

he asked
“what brought this on?”

i asked
“what changed in you?”

he said
“everything.”

and i said
“yeah…
maybe when everything dies
we’re finally who we are.
maybe the only thing that’s afraid
is the part of us that was never real.
maybe we just have to let go
and trust.”

he looked at me
like a mirror remembering its face
and said
“yes,
like moses
leading them across the dead sea
but they wanted to go back.”

he told me
about a friend who wants a new life with him
in india.
a café.
a quiet rebirth.
she read his cards
and said he’s at war
told him to be careful.

i said
“she’s about three years late
with her newsflash.”

we laughed
not because it was funny
but because the war is over
once you stop picking up the sword.

i told him
“these are tools. not prophecy.
you choose what you accept
how you read it.
your soul’s the author.”

and just before i left
i looked him in the eyes
the boy behind the years
and said
“i love you.”

then i walked out.
not from the house
but from the illusion
that we were ever separate.