I sat there, quietly,
On a log by the Huron river
In a secluded corner of Cedar Bend,
And I wept.
I knew nobody would hear me,
I knew nobody would see me.
For so long I lost track
I listened to the wash of sounds–
To the birds, the cicadas,
The lapping of water against the shore,
And even the buzz of flies, of mosquitoes,
The annoyances I once swatted away,
And I thanked them.
I was done taking anything for granted.
For years I fought desperately
To wrench control from the world,
To find some semblance of consistency,
To predict the flow of my life.
I came to understand the flowers
Which had bloomed
Of my ill informed effort
To grasp something more
Were rotten at their roots.
Nothing pollinated them,
And they withered quickly
Without bearing fruit.
Nobody noticed them,
Nobody saw me.
I felt completely alone.
I was ashamed.
Ashamed for what I had suffered,
Ashamed for my lack of strength,
Ashamed to burden others.
I was scared of the truth,
Scared to embrace my suffering–
To wear it proudly…
I wouldn’t dare.
I couldn’t.
When I came to the grand realization
That what blossoms from our suffering
Is the height of love and understanding,
I wept.
I wept so loudly
And so freely!
Careless to who might hear
Or who might see.
And finally I felt my new flowers
Touched gently by pollinators of my heart,
By friends, colleagues, and lovers,
As I knelt humbly across years of service.
I felt no end to the sweet nectar
Which arose from my suffering.
I was not afraid to be seen crying,
I was not afraid to read my poems.
I was finally at peace.
I was able to surrender
That fear of judgement, and
I came to love myself.
Athough there is so far to go,
So much to learn, so much to understand,
I need nothing, and I want nothing, at last.
I am one with the loving forces of the world.
I ask nothing more of them, for
I understand that I belong:
Not how I was, or how I could be,
But exactly the way I am.
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