I feel you reaching out, looking,

wondering where I am.

You search for me in a passing stranger’s eyes,

in a man’s open gaze,

in a woman’s bright smile.

Between the pages of a magazine,

through the notes of a song,

in the lines on a page,

you keep on

looking, hoping,

yet half afraid you may find me

and where that may lead.

You catch glimpses of me

in the warm comfort of a morning coffee,

in the ease of a summer’s day

and the shared laughter of a friend.

And when you think you’ve found me,

who do you see?

Am I mother? Father?

Lover?

God?

The teacher who believed in you?

The brother you never had?

I am all of these and yet I am none.

You try to shape me, mold me, hold me,

create containers that might control me.

Does my freedom so unnerve you?

I touch your cheek, whisper-soft,

‘You are beautiful and worthy.’

Do you feel me?

Or believe me?

Perhaps, for a short while, you have faith

but then you doubt again.

‘That wasn’t love,’ you say, ‘not really’,

closing your heart and turning away.

But it was,

And I am,

always here,

though your fear keeps you

looking at me through guarded eyes.

How might it feel to receive me,

to trust that I am plenty,

to know that you can meet me?

Set us free, you and I,

so I can reach you as only I know how.

Through channels built for my force,

that have been dammed with loveless thoughts

and projections of failure,

let me flow

so you may stop your searching.

See the real me,

that creative, unifying, energy,

that asks nothing

but to be allowed to be.

Love.

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Editor: Bryonie Wise

Photo: Wiki Commons