Breathe.
Eyes closed,
rolling upward
toward a heaven
undisclosed
to anyone else.
Seeing
what is asked of me
from Mother,
from Abue,
from family,
from others
I cannot recall—
but they recall me.
To see
what I have been
so blind to.
To hear sounds,
smell,
taste,
feel
differently
than I had.
No. Let me correct this.
To feel the things
I had already felt
properly,
but was raised
to ignore.
To see with the eye
that was given
as don,
the one that helped
bring me back
to my senses.
To reclaim the entirety
of me
that seemed to be drowned
by the noise
that keeps being made—
mindless noise,
making us forget
to be mindful
of ourselves.
I see the lid opening
on the most exhausted eye,
the eye that looks
on and beyond me,
on and before me,
onto me.
And I am blessed.
I am present.
I am past.
I am future.
I am here.
I am not.
I am everything.
Everything is me.
Gueta.
I am complete.