Sooner or later, just by living, we are reduced to what matters, as so many things we thought were important and irreplaceable are broken or snapped like small branches in a storm. And somehow, we stand taller with less coverings. It is then we begin to feel gratitude, even though it's hard to be grateful for what is difficult. In this regard, all poems are expressions of truth and gratitude.
I Bow To All
I keep telling strangers that
to be in the presence of those
with whom you can both share
pain and celebrate just waking
is the answer to loneliness.
Such friendship makes the shar-
ing of pizza in a noisy pub and the
standing in silence as the old oak
creaks all one could ask for.
In truth, this process of being
worn to only what is raw and
essential never ends.
It's as if a great bird lives inside
the stone of our days and since
no sculptor can free it, it has to
wait for the elements to wear us
down until it's free to fly.
A Question to Walk With: Describe a part of you that seems to be in mid-birth, a wing of being half-carved, and name one experience that is chiseling you free.
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