Ashore

 

“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.

 Be a wanderer.


Image of Mary Magdalene by Sue Ellen Parker

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