It doesn’t have a name. This thing that pulses in my gut, it has no name.
So how do I pursue it when I don’t know what to tell the driver? Follow that car! Which one? Er.. the one with the… in the… where the…
I shrug helplessly and sit back down on the bench in Park Frustration on Despair Street.
It has beauty… creativity and freedom and colour.
It has connection… conversation and sharing and tears of all kinds.
It has discovery… understanding and newness and joy.
But it doesn’t have a name. At least not within my current vocabulary.
So what do I do? There are no maps for No-where, no buses to Every-where, no GPS satellites anywhere.
Take root here? Go anywhere but here?
Cry out Hope and shout down Fear.
Pick myself up, look at the horizon and start walking. Spend time in Beauty, cultivate Connection, pursue Discovery. Hunt it down, seek it out. Find.
* * *
But what happens when all roads seem blocked? When there are no doors, no windows… Just this bench called Waiting.
Choose still. Wait in Hope, weight in Fear. Does the cut wood build a boat or fix the roof in preparation for the coming rain?
Will it come at all?
The reign of hope over fear. Known and unknown.
Face upturned, open hands. I wait.