What does it feel like
to know the ground firm beneath your feet
might fall out from under you
at any moment?
It is all terror and mystery and somehow,
an adrenaline rush and
oh-so-mesmerizing all at once.
Because you see, once you begin
to ask the questions
that could change everything,
it is impossible to go back;
It is impossible to stop asking.
You might hear a little voice
tugging at somewhere inside of you –
maybe near the back of your chest
or is it that one corner of your eye
that has been twitching lately –
begging you to just let the questions
roll off the soft edges of your shoulders,
fall in a neat little pile again, untouched
and not bothering you or anyone else
in your tribe, so all of you can
just settle your brows and
But the thing no one seems to realize
is that you are only
just beginning to learn
how to breathe at full capacity
for the first time.
No longer constricted, like some caged prize,
bred and trained to follow the rules,
stay predictable; impress.
But there never was a cage,
You learn this once you begin
to ask the questions, the ones
that remove the edges you once knew.
And you are finally wild and free,
incredibly light and yet,
Because now, they have lost interest in you.
They shake their heads and offer their prayers
and condolences for what you are going through.
Their words are meant to pull you back (if we are being kind),
but they only push you farther down
this existential rabbit trail;
the surface quality of their polite conversation
has never been so apparent,
has never made your gut
feel so pitted before.
And here is the next question:
Do you stay? With this tribe?
The one that has taught you
what belonging means
(and now, what exile might feel like).
Do you hush up, behave and tip-toe
around the questions?
Or do you allow them to drive this holy
discontent, this wonderment
that there must be more
here, in the shadows,
where you were once told never to venture
(unless it was to proselytize
some poor lost soul)
But what if the shadow is your own?
What if it is your own soul that needs saving?
Or what if grace is wider than anything
you have ever experienced
within the walls of a steepled building?
What if the questions are where grace is found,
here we are
looking squarely at how much
we don’t know and finding something
bigger and more beautiful
in what we can never fully name or understand.
And here, in this holy curiosity
is where we learn to turn,
look at another
and claim them as sister or brother,
because you can’t really lose your tribe
when we all share the name: