Where Me Is to Be

There are low places,
damp and filled with plants
who like to keep their feet wet.
They would not think of lifting themselves out,
and when drought
encroaches upon their comfortable lair,
they despair.

I envy their enjoyment of their surroundings;
Finding myself there I think I would
struggle to get out,
all the while feeling the frustration
of mud holding me with its firm grasp upon my being,
moistening my breathing to the edge of suffocating fear.
I would question, however, whether in fact I belong stuck,
whether it is my true home,
as it is theirs.
After all, there is a certain beauty
to them, but then
they like themselves while there.

I know, though, that in ways I yet have to accept,
that the low, damp places,
often watered by tears,
are a natural part of me.

I like the higher ground,
only sometimes moistened by nature’s hand,
while fed by her abundant care.
I like the firm footing there,
the earth that helps the evergreens stand tall and proud
in their year-round beauty.
Only the meanest of storms,
or bugs or blight –
whether natural or imposed upon them by man,
can destroy their resolve to stand,
often above the rest,
to offer blest relief from heat –
welcoming us to retreat.

I wish to stand firm,
tall and proud of whatever beauty I have to offer –
and offer it always.
I wish to avoid the storms, the bugs and blight
that might disturb my quiet existence
and destroy my personal resolve to be
the “me” that I see when
I feel solidity beneath my being.
I wish to offer relief,
retreat,
to others who might be in need
of dry ground and firm footing.

I wish to be deeply green, serene,
high above the mud,
as nourishing as I can be for others –
other than me.
Yet if I find myself in the low, damp places,
I must learn to accept
the nourishment they may offer:
that which is learned from struggling to be free..