At the root of it all is darkness. The place from which I grow, the structure that holds me fiercely upright, is pressed on all sides by dirt. When I get right down to it the ethereal leaves and twigs even the branches, do not exist, except for my foundation in the composted death and recycled life; the ground. For is it G-d who rains down from the heavens light and water or is G-d truly living at the center of the earth, warming my toes and securing me to what is real.
Use a mirror for words on the tip of your tongue
I asked for the key to my problems.
My expectation was a metal instrument
With which to unbolt the lock to my desires.
What I was given is a systematic explanation
Of the symbols of the plan of my life.
This has been a wonderful gift
And I have benefited greatly.
But first I have to stop brooding
About the loss of my wished for trinket.
Putting names on my map helps me
Stay off cliffs and out of rivers
The code is broken
I can decipher direction and intent
The composition of life’s offerings
Fit and harmonize in unimagined ways.
It creates archways strong and unbending
Giving me access to reefs of beauty and rest.
I asked for the means to open a door
But gained entry to the world.