acceptance

Oh God, 

I’m still here 

In the desert. 

But it’s becoming home. 

I’m not afraid anymore 

Of the dryness 

Or the silence.

I’m finally seeing the beauty 

Of the sands

And the grasses 

And the arid wind. 

My ears are open 

Still waiting for you. 

But the desert has taught me

To let go

Of what I thought you would say. 

I wanted you to speak words,

Words I could take

And eat

And digest 

And be filled 

And ready for more. 

But I am empty. 

And I stopped asking

Somewhere back there. 

I stopped asking

But I’m still listening. 

Silence. 

Nothing. 

Acceptance.

Silence. 

Nothing.

Acceptance. 

Listening.

And 

And I think,

I hardly dare think,

I’m hearing something. 

Slowly.

But it’s not words.

It’s distant.

Hardly intelligible, 

I could be mistaken. 

It’s a rumble,

The roar

Of a crashing ocean. 

I look around me

But the horizon is empty.

I listen. 

It’s faint but it’s there.

Somewhere. 

He’s there. 

Somewhere.

Listening, 

Listening.

Eyes widening.

I think the sound is coming

From within. 

This poem has been part of the process of learning to accept the feelings of spiritual dryness and distance of God as actually an invitation from God into deeper intimacy that grand displays of spiritual power could give. The experience of God through the ocean of Kaua'i has also played a role in may wider understanding of God, his vastness, his unknown-ness, and his presence in me.