There is nothing here for me,

There is nothing here that I’m wanting.

Every desire rising to the surface of my mind

A mere guide, a map, a gentle hand

On the small of my back requesting I return

To the love which created me.

There is nothing here for me,

There is nothing here that I’m lacking.

Every thought I have conjured,

Every emotion I have summoned

A mere experience, a moment, a vessel

Suggesting I return to the ocean

Swelling inside of me.

There is nothing here for me,

There is nothing here I am fearing.

Every longing pulling on the strings of me

A mere sensation, a tingling, a reminder

That nothing breathing outside of me

Can satisfy or determine the ‘who’ of me,

For I am the answered prayer

The author of my memories;

The woman made whole

At the Holy instant of her Being.