You don’t have to follow the path that stretches out before you
(as far as the eye can see).

Here, the path curves inward.
You don’t have to see where it leads.

You only have to stop.

Stay
here
awhile.

Take off your shoes and press your feet into the earth.

The path inward begins where your feet are: close to the ground, beneath the cacophony of voices beckoning you forward.

Let gentleness be your guide. She knows the way in.

You’ve spent so much time searching: between pages of books, between palms pressed together, between pews and postures
and pixels on screens.
Scrolling.
Scrolling.
Blue light limning some deeper longing.

Searching for somewhere other than here;
something other than this.

But the thing you’ve been searching for
has always been here,
has always been this:

your feet in the dirt,
your heart knocking against the walls of your chest,
between this breath
and the next.