Paradox
I am captivated by signs and weary
of constantly searching for them.
My pockets are plenty full
and empty of the most essential.
Determination and willpower
are my signature dominions,
and I want to stop
the world from revolving.
I am exhausted by spouted opinions
and feel the need to share my own.
Give me complete silence,
and shower me with the joy
of laughter and the jingle of chimes.
So many last times come too soon,
and without change,
life would be a lackluster jumble.
The Real Me
I can be a tumbleweed
of melancholy, whirling madly
around heart and mind.
I can be inertia
to the hundredth degree,
even with a never-ending list
on my desk ticking for attention.
I can be problematic in a crowd
because at times, the truth
as I see it blurts out.
I can be so darn happy on my own.
What I cannot be is perfection,
although I’ve tried, believe me;
I cannot be someone contrary
to my destiny.
I can be relied on to care,
to help find a solution
when there’s a need,
but really, I still have a lot
to figure out
about how to live my own life—
this shifting alchemy of existence,
this paradox of me.
I Am
not this finite body,
though oftentimes I must
remind myself of that.
I am not the labels
attempting to define me—
daughter, wife, mother,
healer, elder and the rest.
I have countless questions
no one has the answers to.
I have not found a way
to put an end to
impermanence and change.
There are so many things
I am unsure about,
but what is increasingly clear—
I am not done opening
my heart to flower,
not yet finished
with what I came to learn
by means of this unpredictable,
persistent teacher
called life.
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image: Chris B
