And when you find you have arrived, there will be no applause;
No comfort or assurances that you indeed belong.
You will not find it right away; Alas! the growth is slow.
But once you’re there, you’ll feel the air has lightened undertow.
In truth, it is the absences that illustrate this place.
You won’t find what you’re searching for until your route abates.
Before you’re there, you’ll break, ensnared; you’ll fall apart and shed.
But trust me, you’ll be glad of it. You’d choose this place instead.
You’ll stare into the great nowhere, in disbelief, in sweet despair…
Those highs and lows, you’ll ache to know how high your altitude will go.
And yet, one day, you’ll wake and sense a levity… benevolence…
Your space where fears were commonplace will be rerouted: just you wait.
You’ll pause, you’ll smile, you’ll glide with grace, you’ll pace, you’ll scheme, you’ll hide from fate:
A back and forth that’s beautiful, yet turbulent. Oh yes, I know.
The days are long… (the saying goes) That dreadful phrase, you’ll hear, you’ll know,
you’ll loath that empty juxtapose: your road-map-farce, your new ethos.
And furious through you’ll feel at times, you’ll find, oh yes,
once you’ve arrived:
That you were there, in ways, in kind,
from stage to stage, you self-aligned
your stars, your maps, your signs, your shrines.
Your love burst forth by its design
and lit a path for yearning heart:
You found your Self, your joy, your part.
© Poem by Beth Meyer 2019