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Poem
I'm not a shapeshifter or a drifter searching for a home, 
one who's weary of roaming like a song on the wind 
that no ears can hear except for mine alone.
I'm not a gypsy cursed by a binding spell, but worse, 
one who seems not able to move as time passes by.

I'm in a realm of consciousness, spiritually tethered to life,
but filled with a sense of being alone and disconnected.
I feel somewhat rejected from others of the same ilk,
unable to emerge from a maze where each turn ends in strife,
or wrapped in the webbing of spider spun silk.

There is no suffering in this place, this space where I exist.
I hesitate to call it a journey, perhaps it's understood best 
if I describe it as a relocation or a transient quest.
Did some twist of fate lead me through a dark tunnel
where there's an illuminated path waiting for me to take?

It's blurred, but I have the vision that it's not a prison,
but I'm sitting in Zen position, inside an opaque shell, 
immersed in perceptual thoughts, where sapience starts.
At once I understood that my life is interwoven with others.
That shell, like a balloon, burst and I was awed in oneness
with the Earth, awakened as though I'd just discovered
a universe where spiritual acceptance hovers like clouds.

I recovered my cognitive faculties... what will be, will be.
Not the que sera, sera kind found in lyrical song.
One that everyone hears, a harmonic symphony of souls.
Much clearer now, there are sights and sounds,
a different kind of oneness that left me vacuous as before. 
This one is substantially more essential. It's more real,
for I feel a certain kind of camaraderie, an urgent zeal
that appeals to me to belong, to be one with something 
that lies over the threshold of an opened door.


December 2, 2022 ~ Journey Without Movement Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
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