I look at my life unable to tell
What is missing…

But a vacancy I can sense.

So, I begin to speculate about
What would make things perfect…
A spotless, stainless, painless existence perhaps?

No… that’s not it.

Recognition? Validation?
No, that’s not it either…
I’ve tasted these before
And know that they can intoxicate
But cannot satiate your thirst.

What is that essential thing
That I can’t seem to find?

Is there something lacking in the world?
Or is there a lack within me?
A lack of understanding and wisdom?
A way of seeing?
A way of being?

An inability perhaps to accept things as they are
To see the perfection of imperfection…
To know that all is
As it is meant to be…

I now know that it is my search
That keep me from finding
What stands before me in plain sight
Waiting to be seen and loved.