I am struggling. There's who I
believe I ought to be, and who
I really am. It's humbling, isn't
it? This being, this mystery, this
me sits here radiating energy, yet
I'm gripped by a nameless fear
that I'm missing exactly what
I came to experience.
I am suffering, telling myself
stories of what life should look
like. And then I get the message
like a meteor, like the power
coming back on after hours
in a storm.
This life, this extraordinary
imperfection, this moment
just as it is, this is all I'm
here to receive. The infuriating,
limitless simplicity of day-to-
day living holds everything
I think I'm missing.
One Soul: More poems from the heart of yoga, Danna Faulds, pg 33