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I feel myself waiting…but stepping forward anyway

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I feel myself waiting…
Til I have a story to tell
Before real life can begin
At least one I thought I’d fulfil.

I feel myself waiting…
To figure out something worth sharing
Before I allow anyone’s nod
Open me up to their genuine caring.

I feel myself waiting
til I have something else to say
Something more substantial with more meaning
A glimpse of what I strive to live each day.

I feel myself waiting
For a sign “luv bug? you are ready”
And then I’ll know this is where we let go the dream “Once a mess”
and hold on to reality: “Now: sturdy, stable, steady.”

I feel myself waiting
for some evidence of growth
when the self condemning boogie men
will be gone for good, no joke.

I feel myself waiting
til I get another draft, outline, schedule done!
before I embark on sharing my story

easier to hide, convinced there’s much editing to be done!

And I feel myself waiting
to realize that even in the dream “Once a mess”
I feel so Oak-tree strong
Yet, while awake, I’m still humming a timidness

I feel myself waiting
For that green light “Go Tre”
A yearning for gathering others
To — collectively — share our “moments of meaning” stories.

For surely my waiting is not the only one
Who believes she’s continuously being edited
Maybe many of us feel a similar waiting
Lest our lives be full of being lived, even published.

I feel myself waiting
wondering: “How do others blaze through that attack of “needs more work!”
How are they showing up anyway,
squelching all that says they’re berzzerk.

I feel myself waiting
And yet knowing full well
There won’t ever be another moment better than who I am this moment
when thought is free of fear
and I am oh so still

Yes I feel myself waiting
But feelings are so very fleeting
We find ourselves forging ahead inspite of them
Yay what, I sense is true “published” being

So where are all those others also feeling themselves waiting
and yet blazing that waiting down
For they too have glimpsed the knowing of:
“I am right now so allowed!”

And what could be possible of we collectively gather and open up to say
How, inspite of the pulls toward waiting, we are sculpting moments of meaning every single hour of each and every day?

What could be possible if we gathered and offered the what, how, when and where to?

Might we be gathering and sharing our stories and thus giving life not pause but breath to being true?

Okay maybe yes we feel ourselves waiting
But inspite of that feeling
How are we giving meaning to our everyday living?

How are we refusing to believe we must wait
to be a lifestory worth publishing?
Not a moment too late?

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