Not a happy poem
<< 2:14 p.m. - Monday, Jul. 21, 2008 >>
I�m sitting here in the half-sun, half-shade,
picking new grass blade tips from the ground with my toes
and watching these words surface to my head.
As they fall out my trembling mouth,
amidst frantic beating heart and blushing face
I realize I didn�t even know they existed until this moment.

Because you weren�t there until I made you so.
Speaking it out loud gave my fears a pulse.
There is a place for you.
But what if there isn�t?
What if I spend this life searching, searching and not finding?
Straining, straining and never arriving.

She said we didn�t have to change,
that the divine is already there,
buried inside us like marble sculptures.
We simply need to open to our authentic selves.

I feel only authentically frantic.
That I cannot do this.
That I wasted my money on this training
and I am doomed to this panicked heart and wayward eyes.