“You can search throughout the entire universe for someone who is more deserving of your love and affection than you are yourself, and that person is not to be found anywhere. You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.”
― Gautama Buddha
Having learned long ago that it’s always best to look
where you want to go, I stared at the carpet.
The orientation of the pattern
encouraged, no, forced my eye to track
the subtle flecks of dark brown to the door
at the end of the hall,
and so am I to follow.
Here and now, the end
of the hall is not my destination.
You are my destination. Those patterns
in your eye’s iris may be the stripped carpet
I need in order to reach and click your door ajar:
Is this how I will finally find you?
I spend hours staring at you. Mostly,
eye contact or not, I see the divine. Namaste,
I say, watching you chop vegetables in the morning. Namaste,
I say, as you plant raspberry kisses on children’s bellies. Namaste,
I say, hearing you breathe deeply just split moments before
falling asleep. There seems to be more of God in your thumbnail
than in all of the rest of the writhing city.
It’s hard, keeping my eye on your door
at the end of your hall. Darkness falls,
guiding lines fade from view, you go out of focus.
I am lost. Some days the pattern shifts,
cattywampus to your core, and disorients me
with another door: traps me in the wrong hallway.
And so it does not always feeling divine.
You are at once the most beautiful
and most atrocious. I try not to let my confusion
over this interrupt your peace. It’s enough
that my grace and gratitude wither. It’s enough
I have my own hallway and my own door for
you to reach.