After months on vicious, roiling seas
A blind man steps into the crows nest
And we ask what he sees.
“Why, an island in the mists,” he cries
And everyone believes knowing it’s a lie
Because the alternative is starvation,
Is loss of control.
But nothing is that easy.
There is no plan, no destiny.
No island, no land.
Too wet to grasp
in a river flowing too fast.
No one is in control.
There’s nothing we can do.
So settle into the calm reality
That even to the best of our ability
We can’t escape that cold inevitably.
Lay back, and float downstream,
Let go of struggle,
Let go of control,
Because we never had it anyway.