become the poem
Have you ever been in the middle of things, not knowing which way to go? Do I move forward, do I turn back. Do I go left, do I go right. I oscillate between this choice and the other, turning and turning in place, which in itself is a decision, isn’t it.
When I encounter turns in a poem, I feel the most delicious thrill. This is not a failure, this is a discovery. I have arrived at the centre, and now we are going to turn. Do we move forward, do we turn back. Do we go left, do we go right. Do we delve in between the lines in search for the truth, and is it a truth that will matter?
The poem turns, and I’m either moved or not moved. Most of the time, moved. Most of the time, moved spectacularly, which finds me on my knees supplicating, more of this, yes, more of this.
Day by day again, I arrive at the turning point. Do I get up or not get up. Do I live or not live. Do I let the body love what it loves, do I let the mind pay attention, do I lift my face from my hands, do I try being human for at least one more day?
The poem and the world turns, both.
God, lead me.
Your love is my morning star—awaken me;
my north star— lead me from what enslaves me.
I navigate by the star of your love.
I set myself for the long journey.
Give me courage to be led,
wisdom to let you lead me,
to follow and not stray, not turn back,
not go my own way.
Oh, pure star, save me from my own way.
I name those times I followed my own way…
and those times I followed your love…
May I see your star in my sky
and set my face toward it always.
Set my compass, God,
and keep me from straying.
I let go of my need to know the way,
my pride that I do,
my fear that I don’t.
You lead me, and I trust, give thanks and follow.
In stillness I listen for your whisper,
I feel for your nudging,
I give myself
Love, lead me.
I could write a book on that…
I’ll write a poem instead
I’ll condense the whole story
into a few lines
there you have it
my full story