The pain of being soothing,

take an aspirin.
Forcing oneself to be calming

is spraining.
Deliberately making being calming,

what does it take?
Dining regularly on no sugar dark chocolate? Bitter & fattening.
Waiting for a certain time of the day? Too unpredictable. It comes and goes.
How about after a wonderful belly laugh, but what if I can’t laugh?
Will rolling naked in calcium & magnesium powder work? Then there’s the diarrhea.

How to be, with no pain and no fuss

a calm, soothing, calmingly reliable contributor to the human race?

Will my safe and steady auto driving suffice? But what about the build up of suicidal fumes inside Earth’s garage?

I am stumped.
If I do a burst of Kundalini Rising, will I feel safe to be soothing? I mean, last time I tried it, it worked, but then I was stared at everywhere, like a famous movie star, because my aura glowed the color of lilac.

This being stared at, for an introvert, doesn’t work. It is too much of a sacrifice. So, I said, “So long” to the outward appearance of Spiritual Enlightenment. I have hid you since then in camouflage.

So, what to do? Is being soothing all day too much to do? Is it like eating all day long, so can’t do?

Is being calming good enough when done when it naturally comes?

Is it like what is felt when traveling and finding myself in the next restorative and replenishing oasis, storing up enough good vibes like water?
If it is, then I will fatten up on soothing myself, so I can clod along like a desert camel, growing grumpier and grumpier, until I reach the next embracing oasis.

So, dear kind and gentle reader, if you are often startled by my unsoothing, unsettling dark poems, and are hoping to next read a new, soothingly safer feeling poem from me, hang in there dear please, I will be between oasises.

There is an option. Feel free to hop up and enjoy with me, the quiet and coolness of the thinking through things in the dark nights, and read to me your favorite poems I wrote, those that soothe and calm you the most.
And BYFC – bring your favorite cushion.

©️ July 2025 Much Love, Deb Poems