There is no Rite of Passage,
no ecstatic dance,
or ancient incantation,
to build me up.
No threshold to walk through,
no bridge to cross,
or path less traveled,
to mark my way.
Not a wise old crone,
not a knowledgeable teacher,
or new age prophet,
to guide me.
I'm silent and solitary on a monotonous sea,
with only an occasional vague wind,
that doesn't clear the clouds to the north star
to give me a somewhat idea of my course.
I've no map with a victorious red x,
no passion to motivate toward a goal
that remains secret even to me.
How can I desire without a destination?
February 16, 2003
Tressa Lee Breen