The Gift
The Gift
There is a gift within me
In the middle of my chest.
A parcel of bright golden light,
Made of a powerful force
Stronger than a million storms,
Vaster than the starry sky.
This parcel is as for me
As a fruit or a seed is
for its mother tree.
No, the gift is not for me.
The gift cries out
For deliverance
With urgency,
Now, NOW!
It calls to the aliveness
Of immediacy,
Like the bright birdsong
Brings forth the force
Of the birthing day.
The gift also waits.
Quietly,
Patiently.
It has its own speed.
It will stay at your feet
Like an unsprouted seed,
Until it is finally received.
Some say
A gift’s greatest gift
Is to give away
Regardless of its reception.
Still, I do not pretend
That my chest doesn’t hurt
If it stays at the doorstep,
Wrapped in its box.
Tormented in the failure
To deliver its nature.
This gift’s real voltage
Is only known to itself,
Or perhaps to the world
If it finally unfolds
Into the multiple layers
Of your being.
Come forward, You!
Come out into the world!
I want to see
that light that you shine,
The jewel that you are,
The songs that you sing!
I want to be
By your side as you strive,
See your eyes open wide
As we’re flying!
Come forward, You!