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Risking Love

I knew I was getting old
when I no longer always got up
from the floor
on my first try.

I remember I am old
because I no longer assume
I will always get up
off my contemplative couch
on my first try.

To choose life
on the first through last try
may be as simple
and as complex
as to not choose death,

To choose to trust enough to take
one more,
perhaps final,
inhale.

To choose life
also includes risking love,
another gasp toward compassion,
even a shaky clasp on forgiveness,
indigenously wise mercy,
relentless curiosity,
ancient hope,

However fragile
wounded
insufficient for more grand standing
than one more bold inhale
of Earth’s organic sufficiency
simplicity
solidarity.

It feels as wrong
to define my mourning self
by my failures to love us
on my worst arising days

I feel aright
to creatively redefine our meaning
with unearned compassions for riding along
on Earth’s most grace-filled
timeless
co-arising
SabbathPlace,

My daily liturgical experience
rises and lies
each day and night
recycling in-between
sufficiency of one last grateful inhale
predicting one more first graceful gift
exhaled

Exhilarating
exciting
exiting and entering
small sufficiencies
empowering love’s enlightening
curious co-arising wealth
of loving healthy passions.

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