Human Nature

Tell me who you are, O Human, as I walk beside you.

For we humans are a murky sort,
first sunlight, then shadow—
the boundary always shifting
like the moon in its phases
a crescent of light waxing into fullness
then waning away to darkness again.

We are the shifting edge of the ocean,
the boundary between sand and sea.
We play in the surf, uncertain
let the deep water crash against us
dive under it,
eyes closed against the salt
but not for long—
for we are not built to inhabit oceans.

We are both animal and angel:
barely tamed.
Restrained by spirit,
we long to run wild.
We are woven from threads of sinew and gold—
our skin radiant with desire,
our hands sculpting works of love
We wear our nature uncomfortably,
like a coat we long to take off.

The moon calls us out,
For those who care for her ministrations.
Her cold eye casts the earth in grey
While the sun sprays color over the same landscape
Yet their light is identical,
the one a reflection of the other—
no moonlight without sunlight.

If you must,
there is a place without shadows,
a land of perfect light.
The stars and galaxies shine there.
I would take you to the heavens,
but you wouldn't survive.
Space is not home for frail creatures like us.
We stargazers belong below, creatures of the night.

I have questions:
What is the full moon without the sun?
What is the beach without the deep swells of the ocean?
And who are you, O Human,
angelic animal who prowls the earth
hunting for perfection,
yet limping after love?

Tell me your questions, O Human, and I will walk beside you.


—Eric Nelson