Reflections on a Wasp's Journey

Sat in my childhood kitchen,

I look up at the wasp trailing along the skylight.

Attached to the point where the glass meets the wall,

wings down, walking.

I am unsure how long it has been on this futile path,

with sluggish movements,

dragging his feet like an exhausted child.

The skylight is painted in pastel blue,

and shimmers with glittery sunlight,

promising a return to nature,

but as distant as can be

from the answer.

An open window.

Wide and forgiving,

into what he so desperately desires.

It breathes in spring air far away from his skylight path,

away from his current view.

If he was just to leave,

search with curiosity for something more,

there is the answer,

the way out.

Leave the sad back and forth

of his worn beaten path,

and fly in the unholding air.

Then I find I cannot blame him,

for his repetition,

his both hope in freedom

and knowing in entrapment.

His fear in leaving behind his beaten path

where he is held by the walls and glass,

for something unknown and strange,

that seems unpromising at first glance.

Perhaps he has settled.

For the warmth of the hot glass

over the possibility of touching the rays of sun.

But he does not know in his closeness to more,

his proximity to freedom,

I do.

Is this how God feels,

if He feels,

when I am kept by the comfort of repetition,

away from attempting achievement,

because of my fears of leaving behind all I know.

You must leap into confusion and discomfort,

my child,

pray you do not fall

but fly on the wings of desire, 

out into where you were always meant to be.