we are one
The story of any one of us is in some measure the story of us all.
– Frederick Buechner
at some point in our lives
we all are handed bones to carry –
death is an integral part of the gift of living
hold on to your bones
no matter how the wind blows
hold fast to the bones
that are yours to carry out of Egypt
until you find the place of proper burial
when you reach home at last
lay them gently into the clay from which they sprang
water them with the tears you have carried so gently inside yourself
all the years they have been sloshing within you
waiting patiently for this moment of kindness
kneel in the holy gratitude of your own precious breath
showing up as holy smoke in the frigid air of this winter morning
connecting you to the intimate oneness of the world you walk in
then dry your eyes
warm your hands on the hearth of this very moment of life
and take your place among the hugs of your lovely children
you’ve waited a lifetime to kiss on Christmas morning
the lights shining on the green tree
everything merry and bright
laughing all the way
as you lay all that down
e brook is not the light
but it reflects the coming dawn.
The geese are not the winter,
but it falls from their wings.
The wave is not the sea;
the note is not the song;
I am not the light
but I am made of nothing else.
If not to the light within,
bear witness to the dawn.
To the song.
The candle isn't the sun,
but sings its song.
I don't have to believe this,
just sing the song.
Unfolding Light< em>/p><<