Walking the Walk

Taking Steps on the Path to Compassionate Living

When S**t Gets Real

The shit gets real when

your mother asks if you've thought about

what you'd like done if you die.

I'm thinking about it now.

But I don't plan to die,

not yet.

Not my body.

 

My body is

Strong,

Healthy,

Alive,

pulsing with

Love,

pulsing with

Trust,

pulsing with

Hope,

 

despite signs

from outside

that signal

fear,

doubt,

despair,

darkening days.

 

My body will be safe and sound.

 

The rest of me...

As I crunch leaves on the sidewalk

I know death is

imminent,

necessary shedding,

allowing fallow time

to gather strength for

Regeneration.

 

That shit is real.

 

I put my faith in the trees

that know more life than I,

in roots

reaching

for the Center,

in limbs

outstretched

towards Expanse,

towards Light.

 

I put my trust

in the lesson

that dying is not

an all-or-nothing deal.

 

I look to the mystery of

What Is To Be

that I cannot see

until it is,

or sometimes

long after.

 

I believe

in yellow

in orange,

know that these are

within me,

will fall away

as I stand strong,

my core

intact.

 

I believe

in green to come.

 

That shit is real.

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