I have searched harder, found more, wasted less, and yet I'm still behind.

But is there such a thing as wasted time? I am constantly reminding myself that every footstep I take is necessary. Every new bump along this road is something I need to pay attention to, to notice for those who don't notice, so that at some point I may teach them what they overlooked. I have asked to be some form of messenger; I don't know what that entails, but some people seem to be born with it and I would like to think of myself as born again with it. Thus, life teaches me. Life teaches everyone, but I have always been a good student. Some just absorb faster than others. Sometimes I think I've been here before, and this is somehow all a way for me to remember what I'm supposed to already know. It's like a crash course, a quick review before the big test. Except there is no real test. A test is something to dread -- this, I look forward to. A test is something you worry about passing. This, I feel as though I already passed.

Wasted time... but everything I run across is necessary. Wisdom isn't supposed to feel light and flitty, or uncertain -- wisdom is universal, I think, and contains that same universal feeling of deepseated, indescribable confidence. That thing that says -- "this is how it is, how it always was, how it will be." That unerring judgment born of experience. I want wisdom, but in my eagerness, I forget that wisdom does not come from rushing, but from waiting. Wisdom does not come only from experience, but from the joining of experience and observation. One must reflect, look at themselves and ask who and why.... always always always, why.

I am ready, and yet I'm not ready. I know I can do it, but I don't know what I must do. I feel that push, that push push push... and yet what direction? Where is the road? Faith is blind, and I don't know where I am walking, only that I must trust I will be led in the right direction. That is the easy part. The hard part is waiting.


I look back on wasted time --
yet what is when,
 and what is wasted?
Can you count minutes like they're money?
Can you buy back one more day?
We're either pushing pushing pushing
   or crying stay, stay, stay....
but in this life of 'stop and go'
  we haven't time to break away....

Does a flower waste its winter?
Does a redwood waste its youth?
Who am I to tower
   when only anthills 
can be moved?
  I would seek a greater hour,
a higher time,
   a better place --

But out of fear of wasted words,
    I'll hold off
          for one more day.