16 Jul, 2011
What was it you asked of me
When you forged my fragile nerves
And delicately dialed the DNA
That formed each cellular gear and spring within me
When you mended two split persons
Into one
And watched, felt, and participated
As it gained its own beat
What was it you asked
As the land and water split
And collided again and again
Changing the places where life and non-life
Danced on this spinning, spherical floor
What was it you said, sang, and whispered
that set it all in motion
–the living called learning
where some study to study on
and others fail to learn
and find no further footsteps
What is it you say
to the giant firs, glacial lakes, briny oceans—ants, orphans, and armies?
What is it you say now
As you said then and always?
Love.
Be loved,
And in knowing you are loved,
Love.
No other work will serve you. No other will sustain.
This is the life everlasting—the love that made you makes you again.
—
Love.
Love every way you can.
Love with your science, your math, your thinking, your learning
Love with your body—your eating, your drinking, your feeling, your seeing
Love with your knowing—your hearing, your watching, your flesh and caressing
Love with your hands, your eyes, your feet, and your back
Love slowly and foolishly
Fully and often
Love strangers and family
Losers and winners
Angry and patient
Conquered and slain
And when you are empty
From loving your all
Return to the source
Of all motion
Let stillness remind you
That there is no empty
But only the filling
Yet to be filled.
I sat long beside a deep mountain creek—its cold, crystal waters not long ago snow. I watched and I listened and waited and watched. And slowly remembered what it always knows.