Good Enough

I don’t want to be good anymore. I browsed every catalog of “good”; grabbed it in every color… in every length, for every season, yet somehow, it wasn’t quite good enough. I held it (“good”); I let rest in the grasp of my receptivity until it imprinted the tips of my fingers. If I could be good… enough, hope heard that the world might open up to let goodness in, yet, somehow…

I don’t want to be good anymore; when I was, a crooked gaze measured my uprightness and came up short every time. I saw smiles labeled virtuous when intentions were vile and itching ears scratched with lovely little lies. I can’t be that good. Good and naive.

So, what’s left for the unfeigned, the unfettered, the unfiltered? Many moons mirror the might it takes to wield your light in the darkness. The ebbs and flows of the tides of engagement empower the disempowered. Because balancing was never supposed to be an act, good isn’t good enough and it never has been.

Forty years ago, Mary Oliver spilled ink that’d come to stain my sense of awareness forty years later (with her poem, “Wild Geese”). In doing so, a world did, in fact, open up for me. Not to let goodness in, but for me to take the ash of my flame and create that which only I can see. Good was never good enough, and it never will be.

xx,

Kayla