“What are you waiting for?”
You hear that voice inside you,
Whispering, whispering
the truth:
“You were made for this.”
You know that Voice.
It’s the One that speaks to your heart;
The One who reminds you of your desire;
The One who prods you with your own hunger.
You meet it when you dare to cross the threshold
Between the chambers of your deepest passion
And the world’s greatest need.
You can hear it as it prods you,
“So, what ARE you waiting for?”
Are you waiting for permission?
For an invitation, before you claim your voice?
For the stock market?
You’re going to be disappointed if you wait.
The world owes you nothing.
It may never recognize you.
It may never call you out from behind the curtain.
Yet, I call you,
So, why are you waiting?
Most days you drown it out,
Satisfying yourself with the newspaper, the job, with gossip, with email.
Yet you hear it.
It frightens you with its truth:
“You’re waiting.”
I have Responsibilities, you reply, as you step into the shower.
Look in the mirror.
What do you see?
You’re afraid.
You’re afraid of the truth:
That if you take the risk,
You might fail.
How now, brown cow,
What, then,would the Others think?
But in your dreams, and in your thoughts,
The voice runs through you, awakening you to your desire.
You wade out into it,
And it overtakes you.
The desire surges up from deep inside you,
Baptizing you with joy.
This waterfall is the anointing of your soul.
It resonates,
Deep
Within you.
It runs through your blood.
You know you were made for this.
And you dare to ask yourself,
“So, what AM I waiting for?”
Some people live their whole lives without this Knowing,
Without venturing out into the deep end,
Content to stand up in the shallow end,
So they can see
A flat, foreshortened image of their toes, their navel.
It’s Safe there.
Will you be like that someday?
Are you like that now?
Fearing the loss of control,
As if you had it in the first place?
Is that what you are waiting for?
The voice, whispers, shouts,
It even speaks to you through your own lips.
Are you so arrogant that you think
That your purpose can wait?
That someone else will do it?
Will your heart mourn?
Do you believe that if you ignore it, stuff it down long enough,
That you can somehow prove
That you’ve won?
Trophies collect dust.
“What are you waiting for?”
The voice pokes you, prods you,
In your thoughts, in your dreams.
It will not be silenced.
“What are you waiting for?
I AM telling you:
Live.”
