I feel you reaching out, looking,
wondering where I am.
You search for me in a passing stranger’s eyes,
in a man’s open gaze,
in a woman’s bright smile.
Between the pages of a magazine,
through the notes of a song,
in the lines on a page,
you keep on
yet half afraid you may find me
and where that may lead.
You catch glimpses of me
in the warm comfort of a morning coffee,
in the ease of a summer’s day
and the shared laughter of a friend.
And when you think you’ve found me,
who do you see?
Am I mother? Father?
The teacher who believed in you?
The brother you never had?
I am all of these and yet I am none.
You try to shape me, mold me, hold me,
create containers that might control me.
Does my freedom so unnerve you?
I touch your cheek, whisper-soft,
‘You are beautiful and worthy.’
Do you feel me?
Or believe me?
Perhaps, for a short while, you have faith
but then you doubt again.
‘That wasn’t love,’ you say, ‘not really’,
closing your heart and turning away.
But it was,
And I am,
though your fear keeps you
looking at me through guarded eyes.
How might it feel to receive me,
to trust that I am plenty,
to know that you can meet me?
Set us free, you and I,
so I can reach you as only I know how.
Through channels built for my force,
that have been dammed with loveless thoughts
and projections of failure,
let me flow
so you may stop your searching.
See the real me,
that creative, unifying, energy,
that asks nothing
but to be allowed to be.
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Editor: Bryonie Wise
Photo: Wiki Commons