ON BEING NO-ONE
My confession is
I have never been any good
At being a someone
A perpetual mystic
An outsider
Who made it inside
Simply by accepting
His own outside-ness
Not by becoming
Someone better or stronger
I lost many friends
On the way here
Many by their own hand
Many through error of judgment
As they sought escape in hedonism
I spent years lost in the forest of shadows
Haunted by ghosts I imagined were real
Plagued by insecurity and a kind of fury at life
Through grace have I made it
Through the wisdom of others
Who prodded, loved and beseeched
Who demanded I take off my outer layer
And reveal what was inside the inside
And here I am, wounded and perfect
Showing up no matter what
Abandoned all ideas and imaginations
Of being a someone
If anything, inviting others to meet me in the debris,
In the beauty, in the garden, in the field Rumi spoke of,
Where life is too mysterious to wrap up
I have never been any good
At being a someone
So I no longer try.
Thanks for reading. Be blessed.