I wailed to return from whence I came.
But the others encouraged me to stay. You chose this, they whispered.
I howled, but I also nursed and gurgled and watched the way of this world. Difficult for this old soul to understand.
Why? I asked.
Why do we hurt others? Why do we rush? Why do we eat? Why can’t you see?
“See what?” my parents asked, frustrated at their inventive daughter.
I pointed to the spirits chasing each other, soaring with glee around my bedroom, winging their way through the spring snow.
“What an imagination you have,” my family chuckled, their expressions bewildered.
So over the years, I stopped the questions. I learned to go with the flow. I learned to not accept, but to realize the ridiculousness of this life, like time, hate, bigotry.
I learned to wait it out.
And in the meantime,
I allow my imagination to tell the truth.