birth and being and other poems

(51)
what does it mean to make something of one's self?
the answer depends on who's asking.

if i let someone else pose the question,
it appears i've failed to find my fortune.
that i don't even try.

but when i have the courage to ask,
i see the question itself is wrong.

i don't devote my life to this or that,
as part of some plan to make myself into someone new.

i am just trying to shed all i am not,
so i can experience all of who i am.
i am simply living from the one space i am whole.
my heart.

---
(52)
i've sacrificed so much time to comparing,
to judging, to wondering about self-worth.
someone seems to have it all,
and i wish i did, too.

in these moments,
i see myself split off from others, disconnected.

i want so badly to feel i have what they have.
that i am not alone.

but i do have what they have.
i am birth and being and soul.

only when i chose to obsess over the garments of division,
status and image, power and possessions,
do i miss what we all have, what unites everyone one of us:
the infinite gift of love.

how we share this power
gives life so much meaning.