I spent the last twenty five years of my life waiting. Waiting for something or someone to give my life meaning.
I wait and wait and someone comes along and I rejoice in their appearance in my life. I have meaning and purpose! Joy!
Then they leave and I am left with questions and doubts and the waiting begins again.
I wait for the time to be right to do those things I want to do. I get close and then something happens that puts those plans on the back burner again. Maybe next week. Next year.
I even wait for myself to achieve the level of awakening that I believe will allow me the right, that qualifies me, to pass what little knowledge I have to others but each step I make on this path only reveals what little I actually know and the sheer impossibility of the task.
Still I wait.
In the end all I am waiting for is death.
I’m done waiting.
I will not be left behind by my own apprehension. I will embrace my impatience because at fifty three I have much less time to waste waiting for something or someone or anything or anyone than I ever had and as each day passes I have even less.
I will not wait to die
Or raise myself
To touch the sky
I will go on
Though the path has no end
If I must
I will travel alone
I will not wait to love
I have been gifted
I will not wait to express it
To share it
Even if only with strangers
I will not wait until it clears like a mist
I will make a storm of it
And all who are caught in that storm
I did not wait
I think I’ll go camping this weekend… or maybe next…
Image: “Left Behind” by Hussam Eissa