Miracles
What a miracle it is that I exist
Here
And now
To conceptualize all of this
To quietly long for a more beautiful future
What a mystery it is, that we exist at all
That we cradle consciousness within our crowns
And glimpse how we fit in the universe
With evolved prefrontal cortexes
We are an eye, a mind, a reflection
For the spirit of all things that ever were
Surrounded by creatures who crawl the earth
Who never glimpse the bigger picture
Who never grasp their smallness in the universe
Or the vastness of their maker
They live, they die, and they return to the earth as dust
Never knowing they were here
That they were a fox, a mouse, an ant
On a living rock floating through the darkest sea
They will never know the beauty of language
The way words arranged delicately can create art
The way meaning webs out of sentences
And visuals are born from a simple word
They will never experience the gift
Of shaping language into worlds within your mind
We are so wildly privileged to see through this lens
And so many of us have thrown it all away
What beauty could we have dreamt up
What magic called out to be born through us
On this gift of a planet we woke up on
What treasures did we cast out into the heavens
To be enjoyed in the afterlife
What art was not born
What moments never had
Our intelligence has turned against us
And we are more lost than the animals
In this empty, dark sea
We know not what we stand on
Its miracles not promised forever
Fleeting
Unappreciated
We know not what beauty stirs right between our eyes
The creatures who crawl mock our disposition
With their contentment to live their meaningless lives
While we walk on two legs
Bearing the weight of worlds and horrors both imagined and real
A trembling sense of panic always on our heels
Some of us never stepping foot in a forest
Never once venturing out to meet our maker in the flesh
Nature owes us nothing
And we have betrayed her beautiful gift
She laughs as we burn down her masterpieces
As we burn away our place within her arms
And she cradles us even still
What a miracle it is that I exist
Here
And now
To conceptualize all of this
To quietly long for a more beautiful future
For my species
For my planet
To watch that future slowly burn away
Through a screen
To watch it melt through the teeth of politicians
To watch it wash right off the edge of the earth
Mountain peeks and all
To hear is sizzle out
Water on a campfire
Through the words from fellow humans
Words arranged to hate and hurt
Words that could’ve built something beautiful
Miracles
Miracles
It’s been a challenging few weeks, and the energy has been so charged. Stepping away from social media for the last week has allowed me to process my emotions in a much healthier way, and ground myself again. This poem came from a bleeding wound that’s been wide open for many years. My mind has always been drawn to truth, to understanding the meaning of everything, to patterns and pathways to better ways of life. Slowly waking up to the reality of things in my 20s, deconstructing my religion and being swept away by the promises of others, and finally coming to terms with the fact that if there’s any inherit meaning to this wild experience, I won’t live to see the day a human brain can even conceptualize what exactly that is. All of this led me here. To 2025. To the crumbling of a nation. To a foundationless story that seems to be leading to a tragic end, with no true hero in sight. And it has been painful. I have so many parts to myself, and some of them are heartbroken. Many of them are longing and stirring to make change. But the wisest part of myself, the woman who’s lived through all this and came out stronger, she knows that true change is always coming from within each individual beating heart. She understands that the story’s meaning is revealed through each and every moment I experience, and how I chose to receive the gift of being alive. My heartbreak is not misplaced, nor is my passion to take action and build a better world. But those two parts of myself are so powerful, and without my wisdom to lead them, their energy can be greatly misplaced. I think there are so many other highly sensitive souls out there who struggle with this balance as well. If that’s you, let this be your reminder. Write the poems. Shed the tears. Give your inner pessimist a time to shine now and then. But return to the forest. Return to your friendships. Return to love. Let wisdom lead you there. Make change in the world, every individual will play vastly different roles. Move through the earth, and pave a more beautiful path with your feet. But don’t let hopeless get a grip on your heart. Maybe the world burns away. It’s destined for that anyways. Its tragic that we’ve drawn that future far closer to us than it ever should’ve been, and I still hold on to hope that we can make a change. It’s tragic that humanity is so sick with greed and hatred, that it bleeds into our waters and burns through our forests. But still, find beauty. Even tragic stories have beauty. Regardless of what the future brings, let this very moment be one of grounded compassion, for yourself, for humanity, for the planet. Let that be your guiding light, let every choice come from that place. And when you stray, when you lose yourself to your passion and heartbreak, have grace for yourself. Humanity has never experienced what we are experiencing right now, in high definition. Every reaction is called for. And sometimes, it takes years of mourning what you thought this whole story would be, before you’re ready to move through the world again and start paving. That’s okay. But return to the bare earth. Place your hands against a tree and pray to it. Remember that the earth still loves you, and she will hold onto you long after your warmth leaves her surface. Hold on to that love.
