The Field of Belonging
by Rich Nelson
Out beyond the field of belonging
In that quiet, solemn place
Where the bullfrogs sing, ancient harmony
Across bass clefs of starlight
I lie in wait, hoping
To catch a glimpse of my oncoming self
And leap in surprise, spinning
My frame back into proper place
It is there I met you, dear friend
The one who would tell me my true name
The one I knew I had all along
But had never been spoken to me
Not the name given, but the name received
As surely as any other gift of grace
As surely as any other gift of grace
Buoyed by trillium and white ash
I glided along unseen, peeking through
The dark wood of remembrance
The steep thicket of days, the unforeseen
Break giving way to meadow
Of light sourced a million miles away
A thousand years long past
All assembled for just this time
Just this place
Holding within its bounds the last
Vestige of twilight being molded into dawn
Catching my breath up and breathing
It back to me, breathing new life
Into that dead place I was unaware
Even existed until it was already
Being lived back to life
Resurrection preempting the rightful
Role of my journey’s last repose
Laughing and dancing sang aloud
Egging the bullfrogs on, daring
Them to a friendly duel,
A croaking cacophony of counsel
Tracking mud through pristine pages
Joyously making mess of all I had brought
So certainly to this gathering
And how I was unprepared, for what I would find
How could I have known
That what I yearned for had first
Yearned for me, that the drawing near
I imagined was my own work was
Already being worked upon me
At last there was nothing left to do
At least nothing that I should do
But join in the dancing, and singing,
And croaking, and shining,
And giving, and growing,
And mending, and breaking,
That is the only creation the world
Ever has cared much for, the only life
That beyond any life
Was ever finally worth living