We come here in our chosen roles
Whatever we’ve decided to present —
The selves that we’ve assembled to display,
The stories propping up our self-esteem,
Our plans of how we’ll move and what we’ll say
We come here hoping
what we’ve made ourselves to be
will be enough
And that some transformation
will reach us through our tedium of stuff
We seek a blessing
while doubting it is something we deserve
We keep on guessing
what course will make us feel alive, secure
But Ah —
Despite ourselves
(and everything we hoped to hide,
so clearly seen by everyone who’s hiding)
Our precious souls shine through
And these
These souls, so holy
So wholly free from all regimes
that we or others have devised —
Since they are here
There’s nothing else remaining.
Like dust, like ash, like smoke
those old self-constructs blow away
And so we see each other as we are.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 12, 2012
