I write less and less lately. Perhaps this is temporary—who knows? Having been pouring for so long, without stopping to replenish myself, I recall the words of my friend Phil. “Learn to drink while you pour,” he said.
My heart has come home so quietly that my ego hardly noticed. It moved the ego’s things out of the cupboard and installed itself unobtrusively.
Now I face the great emptiness, which, of course, is fullness.
Challenges still arise, but somehow I am better suited to handle them.
This fall is showing me its bounty. Cracked acorns in the street when I walk around the block. Dogwood berries, maple leaves, the sounds of a roof being put on a house across the creek.
Over and over again I move into life without great grief. Did I really finish with it? It would seem that only remnants remain.
What matters now is the realization that love is the only answer to any question I might have.
The transience of life is stinging at times, the knowledge that the human body is a temporary container and will not hold up forever.
All I can do is be. No energy is required for that. On the contrary, conscious being begets new energy, the transformation of the old.
I am stopping to smell the roses; the thorns have done their work. Hallelujah.