I Don't Know What I Should Love

a poem

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I Don’t Know What I Should Love

What I thought I loved once
became irrelevant,
when life, ever the enigma,
presented another piece of its puzzle.

It shifted the image—
and my heart, like a compass, turned.

Just as I formed a fixed idea,
another piece fell,
and the plot thickened.

The story took yet another turn,
never where I imagined it might go.

Life—
the greatest author—
she writes with an unseen hand,
penning beautiful romances
and terrible cliffhangers,
each word she adds, a twist in the tale.

And just as I think
I've solved her riddle,
she writes a new ending,
humbling me once more.

She whispers:

“When the storm clears,
you’ll see how the pieces fit,
crafted for your highest good.
Some storms pass swiftly;
others linger, clearing and rearranging.
Suspend your judgment—
let the dust settle.
The story is never what you think.
I’ll take you on a journey,
if you let me.”

I whisper back:

Divine Mother, show me the way.
Teach me to serve, to see all,
from the mundane to the leaps of faith,
as sacred.

I am but the flute
through which you play your tune.
You are the potter, I, the clay—
may I soften under your hands,
recognize your touch as life itself.

May I surrender fully,
melt in the fire of your gaze,
and become one with your unfolding story.

Love,

V

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