Isn’t this what our hearts are finally opened to: making the climb, a bit at a time, and waiting for each other along the way? Isn’t this all we can hope for: to look, touch, stand together, and begin again?
When our dog-child Mira was twelve and a half, we knew the slow climb well, tender and heart-breaking with each step. When my father was bed-ridden at ninety-three, his arm fit like a chalky pipe in my palm as he stared into my eyes from the edge of Eternity, wondering why everything looked so soft.
And today, the rain is fine, a steady mist that enables me to go on. All of it strangely a blessing, as are you as you read this, though you may not know it. So wait for me when the wind throws something in my eye. Then I’ll wait for you, when something in the shadow cast over the willow takes the wind out of your heart, because it reminds you of another time that can’t be relived.
Being opened is the most difficult and rewarding part of being human. Often, this happens through our experience of less, not more. For all we learn by reaching, we learn as much when forced to be where we are. How still the trees are, rooted in one place for years, and yet they grow.
when we feel alive and connected, like living poetry, we live big and know the pure ways of all of our darkest days……
inquiry for today~ what do you truly know today?
Don’t be downcast, soon the night will come,
When we can see the cool moon laughing in secret
Over the faint countryside,
And we rest, hand in hand.
Don’t be downcast, the time will soon come
When we can have rest. Our small crosses will stand
On the bright edge of the road together,
And rain fall, and snow fall,
And the winds come and go.