Instructions for this Life

There should be clear answers
But there are not,
There ought to be specific directions,
Instructions in a manual of how to operate
This vessel,
In this life,
But there are not,
No “How to”,
to be in different modes,
Different states of being,
In times of joy and great despair,
Instead, one is left with hearsay,
from others who have traveled,
Down their own paths,
This wisdom shared to guide in the unknown;
Herein lay the hope:
There is no one right track,
No one right way to traverse
This path you tread,
You lead;
It is unpaved,
Meant to be worn by this very trek,
Thereby shaped by you.

White Feather

A white feather,
From one of my ventures,
Resides on my vehicle dashboard,
The air through my windows on a hot day
Lifted and carried the feather
In flight,
As such things are meant to;
Scurrying to recapture my feather,
I am reminded
It was never mine,
It never grew from my body,
And yet now I hold to it
As if it were a part of me,
In a way, it is,
The remembrance of its coming to be with me,
And the miles,
Mishaps and memories
I also collected with it present;
The feather,
Worn but white,
is a symbol
Of what I have been through,
Carried by the wind,
To always make a landing,
With grace,
Wherever I may descend.

Butterfly Returns

Butterfly went home
After their first flight;
Home to cocoons
And caterpillars,
Who each longed to know of their possible future,
But could not yet understand
What air beneath one’s wings
Could feel like,
Each at their own time to cocoon
Metamorphosis awaiting at their own pace,
In their own way;
Not all will get to fly
For some time is much shorter
But they all change,
They all in the end are freed
Of corporeal vessels
Of various form,
Even if they will never know
The flight of a butterfly,
They all may appreciate
The diversity in their shapes
And the cycle
That unites them all.

Rain, On My Side of the Street

It’s raining
On just my side of the street;
Don’t believe?
Come, Come and see;
Feel the water,
upon what was dry skin,
Feel my different perspective,
That is so close
But won’t touch yours ;

“Hey, what’s it called,
This anomaly?”

“The scientific reasoning?”

“And why you, not me?”

“Or does it even matter?”

If you come over,
Is it still “You” versus “Me”,
When the rain is shared?

Experiencing Joy

Make the list,
And check the boxes,
One by one.
But never forget to leave one more,
Always check it
But never off,
This task– the simple,
And cure
That is
Experiencing Joy.

[Image: Some of my Joys– Me being myself (a kid at heart), and dressing up to bring joy to self and others. ]