Maybe I’ll never write anything
that changes the world.
Maybe I’ll never even write anything
that is read by anyone else’s eyes
only my own and maybe yours, random reader,
who has stumbled into my invisible world.
Maybe I’ll spend years or even the rest of my life
writing a book that never gets finished
or never has the chance to be read
because it never gets published
or it sits lonely upon an e-shelf gathering cyber dust.
Maybe I’ll never express
in precise and unerring words
my heart’s understanding of life,
of how much I love Mother Earth
and her immeasurable beauty,
of the pain that has brought me to my knees
and opened my heart
and how I rise each day hopeful of new possibilities,
hopeful of realizing the highest potential of who I am.
Maybe I’ll always be a ghost,
haunting each day with my spirit
but rarely ever seen by human eyes
except the few with the presence to see.
Maybe I’ll just live human ordinary
and the more ordinary I embrace and live
somehow means I’ll end up living extraordinary.
Maybe I’ll always work a day job
to keep my body sheltered and alive
and pay for my soul’s exploration.
Maybe I’ll never figure this out,
that which I think I need to figure out,
and the moments in my days will alternate
between searching and being.
Maybe all my pushing and striving
is for naught and pointless
because there’s nothing I need to do
to be more perfect than I am right now.
Maybe I’ll always be alone
because that one person I believed in
from fairy tales and Hollywood movies
doesn’t really exist in the outer
because that one person is I.
Maybe I will never fully unlearn
unworthiness, fear and doubt
that sometimes hold me back,
dim my light,
and keep me separate.
Maybe they will always be part of me
and all I can do
is love those wounded friends.
Maybe none of this matters
and I just think it does
because I’ve grown up in a world that most values
do, have, achieve.
Maybe the most important thing is each breath
I draw fully into my body,
deep into my belly
with which I use to cry
thank you, thank you, thank you,
my internal, eternal prayers
as I sink down into my core
and root my feet within the earth.
Maybe all there is,
is this longing,
that I wake to each day
that makes me reach to the light,
and surrender to my own blossoming.
Maybe yielding to the longing
is the only answer there is.