On Returning from a Mission
Trip
The
Seed Cracked Open
It used to be
That when I would wake in the morning,
I could with confidence say,
“What am ‘I’ going to
Do?’
That was before the seed
Cracked open.
Now Hafiz is certain:
There are two of us housed
In this body,
Doing the shopping together in the
market and
Tickling each other
While fixing the evening’s food.
Now when I awake
All the internal instruments play the
same music:
“God, what love-mischief can ‘We’ do
For the world
Today?”
Hafiz c.1320-1389
Sunday morning, 10:30 AM-
I wake in my own bed—where
am I?
A hundred thoughts line up
in my head,
Patiently waiting their turn
here
In the twilight of my
consciousness.
I want to hold on to the
sights and the smells,
Laughter and pain and
memories—
Let the ordinary and
familiar
Hold back for a day—
I am not here yet.
What have I learned?
The facts from my new
experience jostle
Around in my head,
New questions bubble to the
surface,
I note a dozen things I want
to ask and learn.
I want to tell my familiar
world of
The new world I have
discovered:
Will they care? Will they understand?
Is that possible,
Not having been there?
What I most want is
To hold on to some of the
change that has
Cracked open within me,
So hard-won, this newness—
What will sustain it?
I know in the end I must
settle for
Pieces of my desires,
Let the familiar will nibble
away
At the newness.
No matter—I will hold on to
What I can,
Make what mischief I can
Here and now, and
Ponder these things in my
heart.
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