Is this feeling, this light, real?
Do I chase ghosts?
Or the unfulfillable wants of a still hurting child?
Shamans aplenty promise respite and even transcendence
And still, after holding the gift myself,
I fear to hope,
And even push away, sometimes, the King’s touch
For fear the wound will only be torn open wider
With disappointment and betrayal.
I smile now in my recent knowing
That from my center,
The core of me uncovered from
The Earthy work of growth,
I am unbroken
And much bigger than my father’s box.
Really, there’s no going back
Now that so much Light and Wholeness
Have creeped, seeped, leaped
Into my soul
Revealing the demons to be children
That need my love.
Growth necessarily means change and choice; even passive choice.