Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Found adrift

Today might be hard friend, there may be moments that you prefer would go quicker, and maybe whole hours that you would wish wouldn't happen at all. But tucked in those moments, and filling in the seconds cuddling close in the minutes of those hours, I'll open up the doors, and curl back the shades, and kiss your brow to remind you-there are whole generations, and a whole universe loving you through this. This. This little second. And can you not see me now? Even now as I make softer the seat cushion beneath your seat so you could feel that the world is a gentle one? Then just feel instead, or look instead, or hear instead, and everywhere waits someone or something in some form eager to love you in its way.
And in this way, we are loved in moments and ferried from one cool uncertain shore of our morning to the next, accompanied always, and guided softly by a gentle rocking of some subtle way we cannot perceive from our stance.
And so, dearest love, though we think we may be fearfully going adrift, sit close. Then what does it matter if now and again we forget our way, if together we are loved through and through?

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