HerWanderingMind

The Cartographer

We are all, and each
a point of reference on some great map.

Each a set of coordinates, an x and a y,
specific unto ourselves
yet significant only in perspective to the whole.

So, who am I, this pin stuck in the atlas,
but a whole universe?

An entire world.
Everything, and at the same time nothing.

Yet, to the Cartographer,
I am the coordinates that point
to the center of it all.

Beneath the city hum
And collective human sigh
In the nests of birds and things unwitnessed
God whispers Its secret name

[originally published on this blog in 2016]

I came here
to further my untaming
and lighten the burden
of my domesticity

I came here
to return to my body
and rediscover
the Poetry of The Universe
as written in my cells.

Who I was before I was born

Is the same as who I will be after I am dead.

What I perceive as this life

Is only the momentary lapse

In my immortality

Absent an opinion
a thought
a feeling

absent everything
I have ever learned
or know to be true

the I that I am
rejoices

Originally posted in September of 2017

pretend you are not fragile
pretend you are not humble
pretend your story does not contain
all the reasons you cannot be happy
and even before you are ready…

pretend you are exactly what the world needs right now

silence, while I let that sink in

silence, while the complaints rise up in you…

silence, as you make your case
that you are not worthy
how you are not enough
have not done enough

silence, as you confess your deepest fear
that somehow – in your innocence perhaps –
you have allowed some small sliver of evil
to enter this world

to which I say, yes!
and leave it at that.