Silently I sit here, alone
Working deep inside my soul bones,
Awaiting full awareness, detection and expression.
To some degree, I am sculptor of my own reality,
Place hands upon wet clay— the only tools I need.
Who else but I might discern the path—
Paint whatever lines or unlearn lines already there,
Yet I slowly walk through mist and woods.
There is so much to hear, not tomorrow or there, but here.
Whatever the growing comes around the bend,
May I enjoy each step, not lose my way or
Block my own way by other’s interfering vision.
If I walk upon such simple path,
Unmasked and completely real,
I source within such power and peace
Find inside my deepest Self new birth,
Not false face to wear, no pretense to satisfy another soul,
But express the magnificence that rests within my own.
At times my way is not clear and nights be dark,
Rain or snow obscures the way, covered in dust,
Hidden from view, yet still I know it’s there,
Alive with infinite possibility— and so I sit,
Kneel at times in silent prayer, write a poem,
Dance my dance, give voice to inner song,
Questing, discerning, living out my sacred purpose,
Reading holy book written by glorious spirit.