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In a field of pure potentiality…

In a field of pure potentiality,
what do I choose to be?
that part in me in equanimity
could it be that it is me?
Could it be that this butterfly
who has a bounty of flowers to seek,
first turns within its own cavity
before it dares a pick?
and in the darkness of its cocoon
it remembers the taste of the sap
a smile on my lips
a song in my heart
I dust a mystical map –
it says a treasure lays within these fields
ancient and many have sought
but only those who wet their tongue before
remember what to spot –
they turn around to an equanimous well
whose eye glanced at the choice
and from its seat, they raise a voice
“This is what I choose to be”!
In a field of pure potentiality,
all flowers could be me
but one with equanimity
I’ve chosen to be free.

– Me

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