It’s hard to believe.
I’m anesthetized by daily life,
like a small bird in its winter torpor.
My sense of purpose quieted,
and my spirit heavy
as faith falls short of the infinite line.
It’s so hard to believe.
The motivational speakers are
overlapping wisdom with enthusiastic claims—
I must conquer my greatest fears
to become the ultimate champion of my success.
My ears feel pressured by their persuasive speech,
until I can’t hear them anymore.
In search of an honest perspective
I ask, where is my place
under this vast sky, on this earth, at this moment?
What is my role in the ultimate scheme?
There is so much suffering in our world,
yet the sky is convincing in her elegant poise,
of a much grander scene
that I want to believe.
Beneath the heights, my defeats gather ‘round
to be taken by the winds of forgiveness, to fuse
with the dawn in vibrating color.
Flying towards the gift of the rising sun,
I lift like a bird in the sky, where the speaker,
and the teacher,
all mute in this marvelous light.
Instantly, everything below appears fragile
while in this magnificent space where it all happens—
life comes and goes,
prayers ascend and gather,
as angels race between the clouds to collect them.
Here, everything I dreamed of
blends with all my doubts in sweet redemption.
I am free to now seize all I long to believe.
And I believe I have a place in this world,
even on days when it’s hard to conceive.
I’m embraced by the light shining down through the ages,
holding loved ones and guiding me.
I believe grace glides beside the truth of my flight
in its purest love revealed.