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And while it’s true
that knowledge of self
is required before
you can love,
truly love,
you must also have
a healthy faith
in the unkown,
an appreciation for
the wind that blows
from you know not where,
that stirs the sea
and leads it
to strange shores
where you may never
see the sky in
the blue that
used to be so familiar
you thought it universal.

The silences,
as much a part of
the music you so love
as the notes,
as needful of mastery,
of audience,
the truths yet
to be discovered,
with which a spirit
in harmony with
its own unfolding story
needs no prior encounter
to call itself
prepared to form
a lasting covenant,
the setting of a movie
that provides more
than a backdrop,
more than a vessel
for things to happen in,
but acts as a character
of sorts in the plot,
with caprices and charms
and can, in turns
be friend, then foe,
then a mere face in the crowd
you pass somewhere
in busy downtown,

all the roads you’ve
never walked,
all the winters
that didn’t fall,
the stones you left unturned,
the what ifs and
changes of heart,
and the voices of chance
both listened to and defied,

are in your hands,
pieces of the same puzzle.
And the knowing of self
breathes in the pauses
where more beauty
is possible.
Embracing the not knowing
is part of it.
So is kissing your fears.
So is trusting
the part of you
that’s been wrong
so many times before.
.

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