There are two of them.
The first is quick and curious.
Like a hostess at a chain restaurant, annoyingly affectionate.
But she also checks my tone, my posture, and my why without really listening.
She’s the little kid asking twenty questions during the PG-13 movie.
She keeps me supple, alert, and honest.
She invites irritation that burns away pretense.
She’s the wobble that keeps balance possible,
the tremor that makes sure the ballerina is still alive.
She relieves the certainty of spiritual bypassing for a non-forced faith and living spiritual ecology.
She can sit with the everything everywhere all at once, but she doesn’t go anywhere.
She trains my intellect. Doesn’t do much for my instinct.
Little doubt.
Then there’s big Doubt.
She’s heavy. Ancient. She wears a lead cape.
She doesn’t question a sentence; she questions my right to speak at all.
She’s the frozen weight of the ancestors.
The loyalty that spookily whispers, “It’s not safe, Girlie!”
They never got to move.
She’s the one that knows women were property up until about yesterday,
and perhaps again tomorrow.
Her intent is protection. Her impact is paralysis.
When it’s little doubt, while I used to treat her like an unwanted guest, I make her tea now.
She can sample my perfume. Take a quarter or two from my piggybank.
I let her ask her questions.
I let her edit and tease.
She can poke holes in my performance. Not my substance.
She turns my absolutisms into a gentle maybe or tender perhaps.
She turns my I must do and have this by then and there into
I would like this by then and I leave room for life to offer something more.
I thank her when she’s done, close the notebook, and take one deliberate step forward.
She is passenger, not driver.
When it’s big Doubt, I don’t debate her. Reason has no use.
I stop. I breathe. I sit back and down. I acknowledge. I bow.
I see you. I see what you sacrificed. Thank you.
I take the vigil and leave your vigilance with you.
Sometimes she nods. Sometimes she doesn’t. Regardless, my bow restores order.
My body can move again.
Little doubt wants attention. Big Doubt wants recognition.
One I meet with a cocked head.
The other, I meet with a lowered one.
You both belong.