The Seeking

I hunt the seeker, the restless one who rises in darkness,

Who moves through the world with eyes open and heart ablaze,

Who follows the call of something essential, something necessary,

The urge that says go forward, there is more, there is always more.

Have you known this longing? This magnificent ache?

I have carried it through seasons beyond counting,

Through valleys and across wide rivers,

Hunting what I recognized only by the hollow it left behind,

Joy, purpose, the self I was before the world taught me to shrink.

The paths I have walked! The false trails and true ones!

Each track I followed, each sign I pursued,

The cold moments when the trail vanished and I stood alone,

Hands open, heart doubting, wondering if I had dreamed the whole thing.

Then comes the sighting, the sudden nearness of what you hunt,

So close the air between you shakes with possibility,

So delicate you fear your desire itself will destroy it,

And you must choose to reach or to wait, to grasp or to let be.

Sometimes you capture it, yes! You hold it in your living hands,

The prize made real, warm and solid and smaller than you imagined,

And you learn this truth, that what we catch may change us less

Than the long journey of hunting, the miles we walked to find it.

Other times it escapes, slips away like water through fingers,

And the loss reveals what you truly wanted all along,

The sharp bright knowing that comes only through absence,

Through understanding precisely what you have failed to hold.

Listen, every hunt is sacred, every pursuit a prayer,

You walk into the world carrying your need like a torch,

And the world responds in its own language, its own time,

Offering answers, or silence, or questions you never thought to ask.

The restlessness that propels you, I celebrate it!

Even when you return with nothing to show,

Even when your hands are empty and your hunt seems wasted,

You come back richer, knowing more of hunger, of patience, of courage.

The hunter returns transformed, whether the hunt succeeds or fails,

Whether the prize hangs heavy in your grasp or ghosts away into memory,

The pursuit itself has made you larger, braver, more alive,

Has taught you what it means to want something enough to chase it.

So go forth! Walk your miles with vigor!

Let your hunting make you magnificent, make you whole!

The world teems with treasures waiting to be discovered,

And you, glorious you, are becoming one who knows how to track,

Who dares to desire, who moves toward what calls,

Who understands that the hunt itself is the holiest thing.

Author’s Note: This poem was written in the spirit of Walt Whitman, drawing on his expansive voice and reverence for the seeker’s journey. This poem took four weeks to write.