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Waiting…
for someone,
something,
myself,
this painful core,
to burst forth,
set me free,
and reveal a direction
that moves us
along.

Waiting…
for life to reveal
a known purpose,
or perhaps a goal
that serves my soul;
or a work that can
turn all needs into
an offering of myself.

Waiting…
to reveal myself,
and create in the world around me
this huge open space that is my heart
so I may plant my own existence
into that emptiness
like ten thousand seeds bursting
forth from the void.

Waiting…
for something that moves me as
powerfully as I feel,
a swell whose energy can
expand my heart with a
momentum to fill all
my life.

This yearning so deep,
who can I share it with,
this lonely
aching
emptiness
at the core of my being.

Waiting…
to join together
with myself
all these things
I am
becoming.

Waiting…
for rage to die,
and a hope
to be born here
in my breast
that can endure
all these seething desires
that burn in my belly.

Hope that will
forge into reality all
that my heart is
calling to be freed from,
the ashes and desolations
of what has passed.

Waiting…
for the ground to rise up,
embrace my feet
and entwine my toes,
with the roots of my ancestors,
and show me who I am,
finally, as I raise my head
above this pounding breast
that grasps my heart so tightly
within the anguish and pain of
all I have dared to understand.

Waiting…
for something to dissolve,
flow outward and away,
blending my life into the world,
as I become a part of all that I am,
able now to create life anew, out of all
that once struggled to burst free
of what I have for so long
clung to.

~ John Fridinger
Spring, 1994

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