Withdrawing to the secret recesses within
I find you present.
There you are, as you ever were, 
awaiting my return --

My solitude.

You greet me with cheer,
though I cannot understand your greeting.
What is so happy about being by oneself?
Are you mad?

Yet the warmth of your fire comforts me,
Beckoning me to sit, be still, 
and just listen
to the crackle of the flame on my heart’s own hearth.

This presence.
My home.

Will you hate me if at morning light
I set out to search again?

Forsaking you for days, weeks, even years on end?

Or will you, as always,
receive me back with open arms
when the journey fails me
and I remember

that there is none with whom to share this space?
Nor could there ever be.
I know it now, though of course I will forget:
in the end, as at the beginning,

I remain utterly, awfully, wonderfully

alone.

No, I haven’t abandoned the old beliefs,
       though I am transcending them. 
Why would I renounce the way that came before?
That dusty old path is what led me to this beautiful place, after all.
You can beg me all you want, then. 
Question me, search me, interrogate me, 
       but you won't find any renunciation here.
No.
Only a fragmented life could result from such poor choice 
       and that's just not my game.
Quietly pick up your tools and go make camp further down the road -
       that's more my style.  
When wholeness is your destination, integration is the way.
So, I don't care what they think. 
Not one word of this story shall be sacrificed to the editor's pen and
not a single chapter will be missing from the final draft in the end.
No.
I am moving on in concentric patterns. 
Spiraling every which way, no doubt,
       but always, ultimately, leading me upward and out.
As the poet said, 
       "I live my life in widening circles
        that reach out across the world. 
        I may not complete this last one
        but I give myself to it."*
And so I go, onward and upward, 
       to include and transcend everything I've known before.
Guilt and powerlessness and prohibition may remind me I'm a sinner, 
but permission, power and the freedom to choose have made me something more.

* Rainer Maria Rilke, Widening Circles

As much as I would like to provide some context for understanding the this poem, I will refrain from doing so for now. After my first book is published (hopefully later this year), I plan on writing a memoir of faith that will be drawn from my personal spiritual journey. If you care enough to know what these words represent, you'll find more explanation there.   

Twenty years.
That's how long I gave to you.
I never asked for anything in return either,
       though perhaps I should have.
And what did you give me?
Disappointed hopes and unfulfilled dreams. 

Maybe I shouldn't blame you; 
       they were my choices, after all.
And to be fair, there were other things, too. 
But I don't know.
It's just that after all this time and everything we've been through,
       it would be nice to know you cared.

It doesn't feel that way, though.
Do you even see me standing here with one foot out the door?
I mean, I get it,  
       I never really was the life of your party.
But still, I thought I at least meant something.
To someone.  

Alright, then.
Twenty years is a long time, you know.
       I didn't expect it to go this way.
But here we are. Here I am. 
What was it your Reformer said? Oh yes, I remember. 
I will borrow his words for my parting farewell. 

And that is that. 

I remember you --
       the boy I used to be. 
So headstrong and certain, 
Ready to give it all up for your righteous cause. 

Alas.

You never thought your dreams would end the way they did.
You didn't see the pain that was coming for you on the horizon.
You had no clue it would all fall apart, did you?
       No inkling that your own mind would change. 

None whatsoever.

Yet how could you? After all, you were just a boy. 
Anyway, at least there's this.       
You may have failed to solve your problems,
       but you did outgrow them. 

That's something, I guess.

Yes, I remember you, the boy I used to be. 
I think of you often and fondly.
Yet I wonder -- had you known, 
       would you have done it any differently?

I saw a flower fall the other day. 
It was lovely, really. 
At first I noticed it from the corner of my eye, then I turned to see the sight. 
The petal just detached itself and floated effortlessly to the ground
       as if it finally decided to take that trip it had been planning for weeks. 
And there I was, charmed, watching it alight ever so gently upon the ground. 
Who am I to be graced with this vision? I thought. 
Of all the people in the world, I am the only one here to witness this beautiful event.
No one will ever see what I saw. 
The bright white.
       The gentle texture.
              The graceful motion.
                     The fading beauty. 
Yes, by now it is already gone. 
Gone from my sight and gone from the world. 
Yet it lives in my memory. Lives in these words. 
I saw a flower fall the other day. 
It was lovely, really. 

Sometimes,

       the smell of spring is all it takes.

The gentle fragrance blowing in from the peach blossoms out back makes me feel alive.

My heart rises on the breeze

       and I become inspired.

Other times, though,

       it kills my sinuses

And all the Sudafed in the world isn’t enough to stir my affection for the season.

I’ll stay in bed and curse the day I was born before I write another damn line about the beauty of nature.

To hell with my discipline.

Sometimes,

       I love to stay home with the kids.

We relax and play together and enjoy each other’s company.

I notice all the wonderful little ways in which they are developing

       and I feel like this is the way life is supposed to be.

Other times, though,

       they drive me crazy,

And all I want to do is go to work where I’ll think of them fondly again.

I hope they never read these words, of course,

       at least not until they are old enough to understand.

"To every thing there is a season,
And a time to every purpose under heaven."

It's true, after all.

Sometimes it sucks, but it's true.

Do you ever get that feeling --
       when the sun is going down and the shadows are stretching out but the day is still light --
where you want to hold onto the moment and make it live forever?
You become melancholic over the approaching darkness.
Nostalgic, 
       you long to drink in the moment and remember the day for how beautiful it really was.
But then it begins to slip away 
       and you become anxious for what is past. 
The shadows grow long and the street lights come on. 
You feel a twinge of sadness. 
You content yourself with the business of the evening and find comfort in thoughts of tomorrow -
       but still, the feeling remains.
You forget it as quickly as you can and hope that when death comes, 
       it is not like this.