Sometimes I literally want to die
die to my pain
die to my frustrations
die to my self pity
There must be more than just this.
I must be more than just this.
So, I cry and let the tears
show me how to live again.
As autumn arrives
and the leaves begin to fall
I think of all my leaves
that need to be shed.
Some easily flit away.
Some are stuck fast.
And I wonder why,
why does so much change,
why is this time of life so hard,
why am I here at all?
Spring is the time for hope.
Summer is the time for growth.
Winter is the time for rest.
But, Autumn is the time for musings.
There is something about fog,
mysterious and intriguing,
the way it covers up
all manner of things
and then reveals them slowly
as if to give us time to make sense of it all.
There is something about fog,
quiet and peaceful,
the way it muffles sounds
in blankets of stillness
and then strangely distorts them
as if to make us listen more closely.
There is something about fog,
thick and moist,
the way it leaves its mark
in dew and dampness
and then disappears completely
as if to remind us to dry our own tears.
In the silence
there is nothing
and everything.
In the silence
Divine Breath speaks
by saying nothing at all.
In the silence
all things drift away
and yet the emptiness is full.
In the silence
I find myself
by losing myself.
All there is,
all there will ever be, already exists
in the silence.
Life is a circle.
Spinning round and round we go,
getting nowhere, fast.
See the saturated clouds
flinging off their excess
so they can float
freely in the heavy air.
See the mighty maple
casting off its seedling bundles,
weak and hearty alike
given to their fate and the will of God.
See the timid chipmunk
scurrying out of the downspout
finally realizing
that its safe, warm nest is not the shelter it sought.
See me, discovering some hidden bravery,
throwing off my winter of angst
and allowing myself to bask in the joy
of the spring rain.
How do I surrender to change?
Inevitable
Relentless
Disheartening
How do I let go of fear,
to see the possibility
and beauty
that may come?
Like spring leaves
Like greening grass
Like downy bunnies
Like returning songbirds
My broken heart,
surrounded by the thin mesh fibers
of hope and joy,
holding it together,
how can I trust it?
How can I not?
