“Odyssey (n.):  A long and eventful journey”  -Merriam Webster Dictionary

 

Across the landscape of loss

come so many guides, so much

wisdom within and without.

Throughout this desert hide

so many opportunities

for listening and learning,

for finding new paths, new

directions in new dimensions.

In losing, so much finding

with each step forward,

each long, brave look

straight into the sun.

She zoomed onto my street,

that little red convertible careening

around curves before screeching

to a stop, taking up two

parking spaces. One long leg at a time

stepped out, magenta stilettoes

clicking across the pavement as she

sashayed up my front steps,

all black leather and big hair,

barging in my front door.

Long, red fingernails lowered

her sunglasses as she stood,

hands on hips, waiting

to be acknowledged.

I leapt off the couch, almost

tripping over the hem

of my pajamas, smiling,

arms open for her embrace. “Hello,

Sugar,” her smoky voice drawled.

“Hello, Confidence!” I hollered,

“welcome home, sister!”

Growl when you’re mad, sister.

Watch them mourn

your lost manners.

Hear them cry out

to the god of lost cause.

What do they know

of our secret wolf selves?

 

Long with me to nourish

this secret, to force pulsing prey

down our hungry throats.

 

Stalk, in silence, their rigid roles.

Devour first those blood-rich organs,

compliance

and duty.

 

Gift them with steaming feces

laced with silver ribbons.

The last time you will give a shit.

 

Then, we will run together

triumphant in predation

howling with honesty

baring fangs when we must.

Giddy and glowing,

this laughing heart

stands ready–open

and willing–for fun,

for growth, for life.

Take your wolf self and run.

Run as far

and as fast

as your lean

muscles take you.

Press your paws into frozen earth

until they crack,

until they bleed.

 

Do not stop.

Do not think.

Do not fear.

 

Continue until you arrive.

Head toward

that warm den of knowing.

Smell the musky odor

miles

before you see its promise.

 

Do not stop.

Do not think.

Do not fear.

 

Close your eyes.

Let instinct navigate

the map of your life.

Trust this earth,

trust yourself.

 

Do not stop.

Do not think.

Do not fear.

 

Suppress hunger,

outlaw thirst.

Deny your strong body’s plea for mercy.

Know you will be given

all

that you need.

 

Do not stop.

Do not think.

Do not fear.

 

Round the final bend.

Push

from the cellar of your being.

Hear proud sisters

cheering you onward.

 

Do not stop.

Do not think

Do not fear.

 

Step your last steps with grace.

Breathe your last labored breath.

Rest now, you are home.

When the sun turns

his attention to the river

after a long winter,

she rolls over, exposing

turquoise belly,

her silent strength ready

to gush, to twinkle

at the brilliance

of his smooth, slow touch.

“When does wholeness happen?”

I asked the dry grass poking through

the snow, and I sat, waiting

for the answer, but the grass did not

speak and neither did the snow.

 

I looked up into the sky without clouds,

asking what it feels like to be whole,

but the sky just kept staring at me

and never acknowledged the question.

 

I touched the tree’s bare branches

and asked, silently this time, “Will I

ever be whole?” The tree wrapped

cold limbs around me and whispered,

“Keep asking questions, but stop

looking for answers.”

 

And as we stood there together,

swaying, I laughed as I realized

that wholeness does not just

happen, and that I already know

exactly what it feels like.

On that bench, still,

for the first time

in weeks, my heart quit

shouting and whispered,

“Thank you for stopping.”

 

Truth slipped in with each

breath, shining its light

in every shadowed corner.

 

Moon tickled the river,

illuminating the freedom

rising to the surface

with each rush of laughter.

 

Stars stood firm, refusing

to spell out answers,

instead, begging me

to shine with courage.

 

Geese, coasting homeward,

honked reminders:

more being, less doing,

more heart, less head.

 

And now, lying in this bed,

unable to sleep,

I wish I was still

on that bench.

I stand before the corkscrew willow,

arms and eyes open, waiting

for directions, but all he does is point

gnarled fingers every direction,

mocking my turmoil, showing me

the one truth I already know:

there are too many possibilities.

“It is neither spring nor summer: it is Always.”  –Theodore Roethke

 

It is Always, and it always will be,

perpetual now, infinite here,

today and forever one and the same,

with nothing separating

life from Life.