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Updated: Jun 17, 2021

I find myself in the in-between


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.


I don't need the crutch of certitude,

the confines of borders,

the stifling chokehold of definitions.

When I can sprout wings and fly.

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