Coming Home to Each Other

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The blossoms are departing

the white dogwood boughs

as the black vultures

hop, hop the grassy bank,

jockeying for position to take

a bite of the doe

who left her body beside Route 33.

In the midst of it all, a sulfur butterfly

lifts himself into the sun-warmed gusts

on untested wings, saying:

“I had no idea!”

A mystic once told me that we

are all inhabiting different

worlds of simultaneous experience.

I’m pretty sure he was right.

And, I think these inner landscapes

we steward must be rich and varied terrain,

though no less bold and fragile,

no less abundant and endangered,

no less invadable and war torn,

no less sacred and celebrated

than the ground we walk on.

It’s from here, after all, that we source

our way of walking.

I’m getting used to being lost

in these places –

the inner and the outer,

yours and mine.

I’ll readily admit to being mapless.

I have no intention of knowing you completely,

And I’m too great a conundrum to

myself to explain.

I’m convinced this is a good thing:

Mystery is what keeps us longing,

and longing is the power

that calls petals to journey,

vultures to disembark the sky,

and butterflies to risk everything

for a moment of surprise.

How wonderful this dilemma:

We are always in the process of

coming home to each other.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Coming Home: Learning to Actively Love this World" 

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