a cry in the desert

is it a whirlwind?
is it a sandstorm?
or is it
just another
gust of wind in the desert?

thought i'd left the desert behind.
starkly bleached plains stretching to empty skies above
given way to
industrial soot. smog. Londontown.
the very dregs of survival.

so much so that my heart ached
and longed and called out for the desert.

its clean bare sweeps
more home than
towering darkening pyres.
iron. metal that rusts and grates
on my raw nerve endings
and fragile, fragmented heartstrings -
already worn parchment thin from being
stretched.

drawn out again
i find myself at the edge of the daily grind.

there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
but that light leads back to the desert.
the empty.
hungry.
thirsty desert.
where lessons in humility blister on my heel
and need is raw
and rich
and real
and alive
and neverending.

in quiet moments
i learned to love the desert.
found grace in the desert.
found the heart of my God in the desert.
found the voice that spoke to my soul
in times of need
and painful want.

there is so much want.
i want. we want. she wants.

i want to divest myself of all the wants
and simply be.

to discover the purity of
my mitochondrial existence
that comes
when want dies
when i die
when it is no longer i who live.

surrender

it's that simple.
so simple.
letting go.

unfolding. unbending. unclenching. unwinding.
let.
go.

i

can't.

or is it won't.
and until i do - then what?
more storm? more vortex?

there's no going back now.
it has begun.
the choice is made.

it is the desert
and the still small voice
in the midst of the storm
that will quiet me
and sustain me
through whatever's next on this passage.

this journey
into the heart 
of letting go.