My head is a glass jar
full to brimming with voices
and expectations,
fighting each other
for their survival.
~~
I sling my pack over my shoulder
and cinch it tight
around my belly
to hold in my anger,
to hold in my rest.
~~
I ascend and the voices grow louder-
I do not resist.
I allow them to flow
over my ears
and trickle through my mind
and rush through my heart.
~~
They move and journey
and I begin to hear.
~~
Footfall
Ascend
I hear the ram
scrambling over the rock.
He glances back at me
and climbs higher.
~~
Footfall
Ascend
The brook is breaking through
its icy barriers –
sometimes so quietly,
I must hold my breath and
try to stop my heart
so I don’t drown out its voice.
~~
Footfall
Ascend
I stop and the wind rushes and speaks and asks,
and my heart answers,
pounding.
~~
Footfall
Ascend
A miniscule woodpecker
has picked an
Empire State tree
and knocks
knocks
for nourishment,
determined and unconcerned.
~~
I drink deeply
from the water in my pack
and it shocks my throat
and washes away the questions
choking me.
~~
I do not meet a single soul
except my own.
She asks how I have been.
I answer: the voices. the jar.
She shakes her head and asks:
How have you been?
~~
I must tell her I am at a nexus
and a crossroads of joy and pain.
She says this is good.
This is how you reach into the jar
and sift around
feeling each one until
the voice you hold in your hand
is your own.
~~
Footfall
Ascend
The sound of quiet
is deafening.
The sound of blood rushing
in my ears,
harmonizes with the birdsong.
~~
I hear sublime.
I am sublime.
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