At first I thought that I would go back Over the years, Retracing my winding path From birth to re-birth, to near-death and back But time stopped me. To walk a path, or re-walk it Obliges the traveler to accept a linear life A two dimensional existence That can only move forward Or backward Or begin again (if only in thought.) At first I thought my path was straight, Moving, perhaps, from stepping stone to stepping stone, Or lesson to lesson. Then I thought it was a series of circles, Like cursive “e”’s Running forward, Looping back Always racing But somehow frustrating Stagnant, Repeating lessons I thought I’d learned. Then, in the frustration, I found resignation, Then peace. And I relaxed. My path is not a path at all As we know them. It is more like a series of bloomings. I set my foot down and From that spot an explosion of life Radiates outward, expanding my horizon And my soul, Touching others, like a sunrise, And even revealing my past, Illuminating it with fresh colors. My path is not linear, it is not wandering. My path is creation and re-creation. It is life expanding itself. It is both small and endless Simple and complex Personal, but entwined. And I am not Alone.
A Hope of My Own 