It was said of one who would be king,
“Not all those that wander are lost.”
Though great wizards may not speak my name,
I too wander, and by the tides of Fate get tossed.
For a spell I lived as others do,
Chasing the spoon-fed dream,
Imprisoned in cubicled falsities,
‘Til my life raft floated me downstream.
The consternation and bewilderment,
Of the friends I left behind,
Trailed off like vaporous whispers,
Of the inner critic that is often unkind.
They variously offered in so many words,
Their wishes for me to find what I seek,
But their condescending tone belied,
The fear and regret they did not speak.
I hugged and thanked them all with love,
And joyously went on about my way,
Offering myself to a less limited world,
Than the one in which they beckoned me to stay.
I am guided now by the compass within,
That guides truest when the mind is still,
It is then that I hear Spirit’s gentle voice,
From the waves and wind I glean Its will.
I always know just when to sail on,
And where I must journey to next,
Leaving new friends I met during my stay,
Glad to know me, yet slightly perplexed.
Few may know the vast extent,
Of all who have been touched by my deeds;
Even I do not see all the flowers,
In the garden that grows from love’s seeds.
Those who follow the conventional rules,
Live by the measure of doing and making.
They may weigh a wanderer’s worth by such scales,
Only to find no bounty for the taking.
Us interlopers who walk about the Earth,
As an eagle glides high and free,
Have interest compounding in the lives and ventures,
Of all those we assist in our blessed liberty.
For who is the doer and maker in us–
That persona we cling to as “me?”
Who of us can catalog every cog in the gears,
Of the Cosmic Clock that rounds everlastingly?
(Written in Lower Puna, Big Island of Hawai’i. August, 2012)