for Parker J. Palmer
No, you’re no blank slate when you’re born but own
A code like your genetic code, unique
To your own soul: that fate towards which you’re prone,
That self you must devote your life to seek.
Although this self’s implicit in your being,
It never will be fully realized
Until attended to—just that is freeing
For what, until you do, remains disguised.
This hidden wholeness is your being’s mold,
The form it must assume for you to thrive;
Unless you do, you’ll be like buried gold
And fail to shine or flourish, just survive.
To be the whole of who you truly are
Turn inward and not toward some distant star.