Poetry: Where I Am Always Pointing

This writing isn’t writing.
It’s righting.
Things become right
when I write.
As things become right
when my spine lays
right up against
a particular tree
in that swale
in the forest.

My life rights itself
when my bare feet
touch the Earth
and the nightsongs
of everything out here
come into my ears.
It’s the same when a story
comes out
of this place located
as me.
I am the only one here.

I write for all the others
who are
or seek to be
the only one here.

I don’t write to be recognized.
I write so that we can recognize one another
and yet
remain
insoluble,
divided,
yet united
in what rights us…
that is why I write.

When you want to be alone…
when you know the whispers
are thunderstorms
and animals tell the future.
When you are
where you can’t find any students
because
all you can see are teachers…
in every insect, every branch
every dappled bird
and every confusing, perplexing
human…
in the muddy middle
I am there
at the same time as you.

We aren’t one another
like this.
We are one another
though,
after this,
and
before this
and
behind this
humid facade
this brilliant dancing
brocade.

I write for the other
me’s
that know they aren’t
them’s.
I write for silence
and sprigs of replenishment
in the dark.
I write for hidden things
and sunsets that no one
remembers…
except for the people I am writing to.

I write because the undersides of too many
stones
are begging for sunlight.
I write because there is
a particular way
that my life is cherished
and held
that some will cry about
and those tears are worth
a
life
time.

From me to you
from you for me
we are together
indefatigable
unbeatable
triumphant
fallible and
ironic as humans…
but gorgeous in any other
form.

Don’t mistake me
for someone who wants to make
a mark on this world.
Unless it is to point to the very spot
that marks
where this world
connects
to one filled with
true loving mystery.

Guess where I am always pointing?

At me.

At you.

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About skymeetingtheground

Healer, poet, author, yogi, single father...outdoorsy guy.
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3 Responses to Poetry: Where I Am Always Pointing

  1. tealas says:

    Reblogged this on The Stream of Life and commented:
    This week I exclaimed, I don’t just like my healer, I am like him! It is a deep river of revelation of what had seemed for some time to be projected outward within him. And he has written it so eloquently in this poem ♥

    Like

  2. janeadamsart says:

    Thank you for this

    Like

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