Comfort zone

By Virginia J. Pasalo

THERE are people we often seek, places we frequent, to find harmony. These people and places are different because they make us contemplate, confront our fears, face our realities and look at our darkest secrets. They make us uncomfortable, as we go through a process of self-doubt and sometimes, absence of faith.

There are also people and places we seek and frequent to find comfort, because they make us feel that our world is okay as it is, without the need to change any of it, even as we watch our surroundings changing very quickly and defining a new reality. These are zones of comfort, areas of existence that prevent us from the penetrating questions, the possibilities of new encounters and the excitement of taking risks. They make us remain in the status quo, and watch others rise and fall. We witness their becoming, content with the stillness of our non-evolution.

The paradox of comfort zones is that they provide equilibrium and balance, as much as they prevent exploration and the experience of pain and failure, necessary steps towards growth and self-actualization.

Comfort zone

I snuggled my head
under your bushy armpit
to be warmed by your hair
after a bad hair day
or days when, my own hair
is ill-equipped to give a lair
or offer strands of wisdom
or empathy to self-doubt

under your left arm,
smelling of sun-dried sweat
adorned by sparse, salty hair
I find confidence and rare comfort
in the earthy scent of musk,
a conditioner gently caressing,
restoring moisture and smoothness
to my occasional dryness
and split end

after that momentary solace
in that very comfortable place
deep within, and without, life breathes
outside the ambit of your armpit.

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