I am not a fair weathered friend—
If when the weather is fair you want to turn a blind eye to what is before, after and underneath
and enjoy the pleasantries

When the weather is fair, I am making hay, digging trenches, chopping wood and carrying water.

I am not your stormy weathered friend either—
If in the storm you want to panic, eyes closed and lost bearings, whipping around feeding your fear, playing prey to circumstance

When the weather is poor, I am moving to the centre, holding steady and penetrating the core, attention on what is there to be transformed.

If you would perpetuate distortion, let your mind run amok and create energetic consequence to lament, hold yourself apart split in pieces crying about the fragmentation..

Fair weather or no,
I am not the friend for you.