Am I Enough?

       

We are enough, say the Wisdom Keepers.
I want to believe.

We are light, music, say the mystics.
I want to understand.
And music.
How do I sing an unknown melody?

How do I reach into the stars and say,
Show me. Teach me?
Will they turn merciful faces toward me
and answer?

Our hearts gather wounds
if we live a lifetime—
or only two days.

Here is the truth:
The sharp knife does not strike once.
It returns.
Again and again,
it pierces the tender visions we carry.

Doubts arrive.
Abuse follows.
Destructive words linger longer than they should.
Disapproval settles into the inner chambers
where hope once lived.

And quietly—
almost politely—
the thought appears:

We are small.
We are not enough.

It only takes one word.
A tender scar remains.

Betrayal—
life-altering,
or so slight we barely notice
until decades later.

A glacial glance of dismissal—
an arrow loosens a heart string.

Silence from a friend.
From a beloved.
We bleed.

I have no answers.

There are days I believe I am enough—
that I am music, I am light.
There are days the world turns harsh,
and barbed words reopen old wounds.

Why do some speak with violence?
What injuries suffered fill them with meanness?

I try to walk away from what diminishes me.
I stay close to what makes me glad.

Our hearts are tender.
They are resilient, too.
But heartstrings require love—
patient hands—
to tune them.

Who loves enough to tune another’s heart?
Is this not our real work?

Who tunes ours?

Are we guided by the Unseen—
by something listening
even when we are not?

My eyes brim tears.
My voice softens.
Something is missing.

My heart leans toward the Unseen—
tuning stars,
cosmos,
the solitary mirror—
and this heart.

Did we come here to experience deeply—
love,
light,
courage?

Are these truly ours to carry?

Are we enough?

yes.

If not—
why are we here?

—L.A.M.