Looking up, I see only myself.
When did I become the center?
If I am the focus,
the world becomes very small.
Found again,
in the middle,
in the chaos.
Not surprising,
nothing new,
but still I am tethered.
Holding fast to an anchor buried deep.
Joy is not beyond
or too far out of reach;
Peace is not when everything is still.
These are found in the swirling,
in the screaming winds
and the pounding rain.
Met in the chaos,
known in and called for the chaos.
It is here I can grow,
even thrive.
Born of wind and dust,
how can I NOT belong in the storm?