We stand on an edge.
Life is always perched on an edge—
the place in-between,
the sublimity of becoming.
To be true, we can’t limit ourselves
to seeing half-empty or half-full.
To be in truth,
we have to face the darkest dark.
We have to pull our heads out of the sand
of our chosen distractions,
whatever they might be
and however much they sing us to sleep.
We have to wake up, and keep waking up
to see the damage we have left in our wake
as we took what wasn’t ours for the taking,
without concern of the consequences, without gratitude.
We have to understand the truth our world exposes,
projections of our disconnection,
our fears and unlimited appetites,
no matter the cost.
We are the monster we point to in others--
the insatiable pillager, the Windago who chews off his own lips
in his madness. This is the shadow we have cast,
a poor substitute of our deepest unmet needs.
And this is the edge we are perched on—
the line between waking up and dreaming.
We cannot dream the beauty our souls crave
without being awake to what is.
And this radiant edge of potential is already true.
You know it is; that’s how it works.
We just have to cross over
from the mystery to the remembered.