The Stumbling Gait of Want

I do not sit
with comfort
in my own skin.
I do not rest
or breathe with ease,
without thinking
If or
When or
How I might
take the next one.
I prefer to fight,
except when I prefer
to flee.
And there is
familiarity in the
absolute stasis
of white-knuckled
holding on.

But the soul You
have given me
is pure.
It is whole
and it rests within
this body that
does not know
comfort or
rest.

What if I deny
it, that Gift
of grace and
completion -
my soul, that
You guard
and guide and
take and return?
What if I let it hunger?
What if I take no pleasure in touch,
and do not anoint my body
with oils and scent,
and leave my face bare
and my feet unshod,
so that i can feel the
bones of the earth
and the sharp chill of the air?

Will my soul rise then?
Will my breath rise with it,
and my spirit with my breath?
Will hunger and thirst
and the unease of my
body lift me -
and my soul,
naked now,
and pure
and whole
and lifted
and lifting -
will it all be enough?

Into the silence of my want.
and the stumbling gait
of my fear,
let there be that
instant, like a spark
of light
and hope
and give,
that my soul,
that is pure,
and my body
that is weary
of discomfort
and flight,
let me rise and
stand before your
Gate, ready
to Return.
Ready to
begin.
Ready.