“Not all those who wander are lost.” ~J.R.R. Tolkein
The wilderness invites
your whirling heart,
rudderless, eddied, spun
by a tide incoming,
entangled in a chaos
of weed and beach foam,
still beaten by the breath
of your beloved,
keeping his promise
to the starfish, the unborn.
Now meander inland
like Jesus until
you're good and lost,
then
take off your shoes
and call it home.
With every step, the earth
says
"welcome," and you never
even get close to where you were going.
The only consolation
is
to throw away your map
and start dancing, dark-bodied,
right
where you are.
Open your palms toward sunset.
Pray without naming the stars
that arrive one by one
like honored guests, bending
to touch your naked feet.
After all, aren’t you made
from their journeys of curved light?
Dust
is your sacrament now.
Wiggle your toes in thanksgiving.
Linger, but do not stay.
Image of Mary Magdalene by Sue Ellen Parker
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