I bear witness to the world as it is. Not resisting what I see for what I want.
I listen to it, allow it to be. I hold space while the world weeps. I bow to it while the old order burns, writhes.
I am not dead set on a design for the new world, but breathe in the wondrous possibility. Still there, with it. With me in it. We only begrudge death when we don’t walk with it at its own pace. Like an old dog. A father. A friend. That’s where the grace is. The seeing, the listening. The being there.
From that place, love burns like a fire in my belly. I feel the awakening. The universal birth beginning. This river is me. And bigger than me. In the allowing, seeds can germinate. In the allowing, the path is clear and love rushes through, unceasingly.
First Words from a Sea Bird 