Pull
A poem about the tug of your passions
I was trying to find
the process when I
should’ve been listening
intently in the silent
mornings, when I’m simply
sitting with the myraid of
emotions that rise up
from exhausting sleep.
The answer lays in the pull
of energies within you
and not above you or
outside of you.
But the answer is not a
crystalline object, it’s not
a presence, or something
that begs for a description.
The answer is the map of
that totality of your
consciousness.
It can be found only when
you want to be conscious,
for the duration that you
are conscious.
It is independent of the
balance of chemicals.
It is where you think truth
lies, but again that’s a one
dimensional concept.
It is the map, with steps
forward and back, until
you think you see some
kind of light, then there’s
another turn to be made.
It’s the map that you come
to love.
Along the way, you meet
people who are walking
on their map that intersect
with yours.
But, it’s your map that you
continually refine.
It’s your map that you come
to love whole-heartedly.
Your hours spent in
consciousness
is when you make love
to the world.
