What a kindness
she showers upon me,
not letting me skip any steps,
or leave not even one stone unturned.
What a mad trust she has
in this broken stumbling lover,
unwavering she ignores
my ramblings about limitations,
about my longing for a tiny bit of glitter.
You asked for freedom didn’t you, she whispers,
as she pours me another glass.
Drunk and bruised I crawl
to the table again and again.
Yes mother, more,
I give everything for just
one more sip of your exquisite
medicine of the real.
God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night.
Meanwhile, someplace in the world, somebody is making love and another a poem.
Many on the spiritual path rightfully long for a sudden point in time when a shift happens
to fashion universes out of emptiness
Where do you see a window you can open for a subtle sacrament to slip into your day?
A winter solstice 2020 short stream for a Movement Medicine community
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