The Gardener

I was flipping through my book, The 100 Best Poems of All Time, when I came across one that really struck me. It is entitled "The Gardener" and is written by Rabindranath Tagore and was originally written in Bengali. It speaks of love and being known and of our hearts and how even when someone knows you deeply, they still don't fully know you. Such is the complication of being human.

Your questioning eyes are sad. They seek to know my
meaning as the moon would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your eyes from end to end,
with nothing hidden or held back. That is why you know
me not.
If it were only a gem, I could break it into a hundred
pieces and string them into a chain to put on your neck.
If it were only a flower, round and small and sweet, I could
pluck it from its stem to set it in your hair.
But it is a heart, my beloved. Where are its shores and its
bottom?
You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its
queen.
If it were only a moment of pleasure i would flower in an
easy smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment.
If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears,
reflecting its inmost secret without a word.
But it is love, my beloved.
Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants
and wealth.
It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly
know it.

it's not easy being 23

i think i thought i'd be different
more together
i thought i'd know how to do my taxes all by myself
and that I'd never not return a phone call
i thought everything would be easier
because i was "grown up," whatever that means
i thought my life would be moving in a clear direction
that i would know why it is that i exist
i thought i'd know how to french braid my own hair
and that boldness and courage would come naturally
i thought the darkness would no longer inspire fear
and that i'd be over the phase of eating cereal for dinner
i thought i'd know what i believe
and have a solid faith to rely on
i thought letting God be in control would be easy
i thought i'd know how to articulate my feelings
and let people in to my life without reserve
i thought my insecurities would be obsolete
and that loneliness would be a thing of the past

and yet here i am, 23 and so often feeling like a small child
lost in the grocery store, searching for the face of my mom
i still call my dad with money questions
i still wish my mom could just tell me what i should do
i thought i'd wake up one day knowing how to be an adult
maybe after high school, then college, now post college
and now i'm 23, still figuring it all out

i know that is the beauty of it all
life lies not in plans but in spontaneity
not in the end result but in the sum of moments
life exists not in the clear direction but in the getting lost
not with a script but with an always changing stage
the most life comes out of chaos, out of change,
out of disappointment and risk and the unknown
maybe not one person has it figured out
we are all just pretending
and sometimes that is all we can do to keep our feet under us
pretend, risk, experiment, fail, learn, pretend again

and still, it's not easy being 23
then again, maybe it's not "23"
maybe it's just life
and i think i may be ok with that

you make me new

what a beautiful gift it is to be made new. to be made beautiful.

"you make beautiful things
 you make beautiful things out of the dust
 you make beautiful things
 you make beautiful things out of us"

"all around
 hope is springing up from this old ground
 out of chaos life is being found in you"

"you make me new
 you are making me new"

the words from this song are so powerful and as i listen, i allow the truth of them to overwhelm me. i hope this monday morning, you hear something in them as well.

Tales of 3-5-8

These are words inspired as I rode my bus (358) home from work.  I have had the desire to write a poem about my bus experiences for awhile now and I finally have.

Tales of 3-5-8

Greetings from a driver
Though sometimes I feel invisible
Pungent smells assault me
Old and young together
Immigrants, natives, and transplants like me
On and off all day
Eye contact often averted
Personal space no longer my own
Subjected to conversations I'd rather not hear
People fighting, people laughing
Some on their way to a party
Others just riding to survive
Teenagers with no money, loud and unaware
Old women in wheelchairs
Young mothers, exhaustion in their eyes
Hopelessness, heartache, and sorrows
Smiles, joy, and adventure
All ride together
No restrictions, no expectations
Just people going about their lives
Getting from here to there
Who are you?
Where are you going?
We all ride together, yet we all ride alone