I’ve been thinking about the size and shape of me

The way I take up space and move in the world.


And it has just occurred to me…

I can chose to be whatever size I want.


What do I want?

And what am I willing to do?


I keep having to ask myself these questions. 

I think I know the answer,

I’m so sure

And ready to go. 

And then I lose the way again. 


Is there really any magic to be found 

in fighting forward through the fog, 

striving towards a cloudy vision 

of what could be?

Or does the magic only come 

if I sit silently 

and wait 

for it to tap me on the shoulder 

and whisper my name?


Maybe that’s what this life is:

A pattern of 

Waiting and listening. 

Listening and waiting. 

Finding and loosing and finding and…