I find myself in the in-between
again.
I try to name it:
liminal space, unknown,
ambiguity, paradox...
but not limbo, that implies stagnation.
And there is water that rushes beneath.
The undetected rumble of tectonic shifts
that throw up mountains.
The slow drip of water
that carves canyons.
It may not be in this lifetime,
yet still I work for it.
Eternally attentive,
as if at any moment
it will reveal itself to me
with the right light
that finally illuminates,
like magic ink.
I call out to Mother for a sign,
A clue that I am on the right track.
But all I find are more riddles to uncover.
There is no ease, no certainty.
No straight lines,
and every border blurs
and blends into the next,
like water colors.
Brush still too wet as it kisses the page,
and I dissolve into it.
I call out to Mother for a partner
to share the journey.
She sends me beautiful souls,
to behold and I tremble,
giddy in their presence.
The adrenaline of awe
and a momentary relief
in our shared breath.
But each only travels short bursts
with me, before
our paths diverge.
And I am left walking alone,
stumbling along,
in the company of birds and stones.
Looking for meaning in morphing clouds
and comfort in the soft touch of breeze,
caressing my skin.
Then with a gasp I remember.
“Alone” is a state of mind.
A concept that continually evolves.
The trees are steady companions.
The humming bird doesn’t worry
if she will find the next flower.
My toes commune daily with wet grass.
And my heart is at peace.
A smile dances across my face,
and my body moves to greet it.
Buoyancy...
I don't need the crutch of certitude,
the confines of borders,
the stifling chokehold of definitions.
When I can sprout wings and fly.