A Poem - Looking for what already is

LOOKING FOR WHAT ALREADY IS

By Wende Birtch

Everything has stopped.

I find myself peaceful.

Empty, spacious,

Still.

I am open to what’s here.

Curious.

Content.

Easing into a natural sense of effortless awareness.

As I listen within, I find a part of me wanting to meditate

as if it’s some separate process

from the natural state of being that is now here.

What is this desire?

Is it a part of me wanting to do something for its own gain?

Or is it the deep longing of my soul,

wanting my attention-

needing a chance to awaken?

This inquiry leads to more questions- those of my analytical mind,

I know the turns of this mental maze without exit - oh, so familiar and mesmerizing.

This morning, I let go of that entanglement

and just look around at what’s here, right now.

“I wish I could write a poem”, says a different voice, inside.

“That would be cool.”

“I could be like one of those special, artistic people...

“But, I can’t,” says the voice.

“I’m not one of those creative writers or a poet.”

“I can’t really even draw.”

“Oh well,” says the voice of longing,

and, a deep sigh of despair fills the space.

This voice of longing, always just beneath the surface,

longs to be more; to express more.

To be more creative, more brilliant, more youthful, more useful in the world.

To have more freedom so I could stay here forever-

Amidst the wild birds, and waves and sticky salt air.

Available and willing to open to the soft breeze, warm on my face,

Blowing my hair and lifting the pages. I feel alive.

I realize I am free, here, now...

Oh! There’s the crab! Crawling and creeping

its tiny, spiny legs across the rugged terrain of sand and shell.

He always makes me laugh.

It feels nice to smile so naturally, at something so simple and small.

I feel so connected here- like I belong.

My inner voice interrupts...

”Do I stop now?”

“Was that enough? Did I do it?”

“Did I just write a poem?”

Gazing upward, the beauty of nature pulls me back to my surroundings.

I notice the morning flock of pelicans,

Soaring overhead in V-formation, like a troop on “beach- patrol”.

Flying with confidence, like they own the place. Actually, it is theirs.

This natural sanctuary of sound and sight,

of blues and greens and sandy grays.

Pink and white shells spotting the shore.

Perfection. Grasses, bluffs and sea-

Only these ocean waves can empty this mind, and still my voice of longing.