I make my way by induction,
as by candle light, long before dawn —
I look, first, for the first reason —
why you would even open your eyes,
why you would care,
why you would rise
I see you couldn’t be there
without the spark, you would be nothing
without desire
And if the spark is present,
it must really be the only thing —
it wouldn’t let itself
be mostly snuffed out
It wouldn’t let itself be used
to power anything unlike itself —
to power dread or burden,
or soul deadening requirements
If the spark is here
then it will dictate joy —
joy, and strength, and vigor —
it will spread the whole day
with sweet harmony,
for so it is, by nature
And if this is what’s here,
I’ll see it. Gently,
modest as the dawn,
radiant as day. I’ll recognize it
in every light that shows the way.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 4, 2019
Mornings are so crucial, as you say.
Focusing that spark, not to be drawn into highlighting murky, shadowy fears, but to lead the way out…
I wish that beaming toward wholesome truth was simply a natural fact for me. But it is certainly right. And I lean into this poem as a prayer toward that intention.
may your leaning bear fruit, for you and for all you touch —